THE 


PHILOSOPHY 


ACTIVE  AND  MORAL  POWERS  OE  MAN. 


DUGALD  STEWART,  F.  R.  SS.  LOND.  AND  ED. 


REVISED,    WITH    OMISSIONS    AND    ADDITIONS, 

EY  JAMES  WALKER,  D.  D., 

PROFESSOR   OF   INTELLECTUAL   AND   MORAL   PHILOSOPHY   IN   HARVARD    COLLEGE, 


CAMBRIDGE. 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  BARTLETT. 

3Soofeseller  to  t|)e  Onffaersftn. 

1849. 


.    . 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1849,  by 

JOHN    BARTLETT, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
METCALF    AND    COMPANY, 

PRINTERS   TO   THE   UNIVERSITY. 


Stack 
Annex 


PREFACE 

BY    THE    EDITOR. 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH  has  said  of  Mr.  Stewart,  —  "  Per- 
haps few  men  ever  lived,  who  poured  into  the  breasts  of 
youth  a  more  fervid  and  yet  reasonable  love  of  liberty,  of 
truth,  and  of  virtue.  How  many  are  still  alive,  in  different 
countries,  and  in  every  rank  to  which  education  reaches, 
who,  if  they  accurately  examined  their  own  minds  and  lives, 
would  not  ascribe  much  of  whatever  goodness  and  happiness 
they  possess  to  the  early  impressions  of  his  gentle  and  per- 
suasive eloquence !  " 

The  Philosophy  of  the  Active  and  Moral  Powers  of  Man 
was  the  last  of  his  publications  ;  it  came  from  the  press  in 
the  spring  of  1828,  a  few  weeks  before  the  author's  death. 
An  unfriendly  and  severe  critic  in  the  Penny  Cyclop&dia 
admits,  in  respect  to  this  treatise,  that  it  is  "  by  far  the  least 
exceptionable  of  his  works.  It  is  more  systematic,  and  con- 
tains more  new  truths,  than  any  of  his  metaphysical  writ- 
ings ;  and  his  long  acquaintance  with  the  world  and  with  let- 
ters enabled  him  to  suggest  many  obvious  but  overlooked 
analyses."  Only  two  editions  of  it  have  appeared  in  this  coun- 
try,—  one  separately  in  1828,  the  other  in  a  collection  of  his 


IV  PREFACE. 

works  in  the  following  year ;  the  former  has  long  been  out  of 
print. 

The  author  begins  his  Preface  by  apologizing  for  "  the 
large  and  perhaps  disproportionate  space  "  allotted  by  him  to 
the  evidence  and  doctrines  of  natural  religion.  This  part, 
making  nearly  one  third  of  the  whole,  has  been  omitted  in 
the  present  edition,  as  being  out  of  place  here,  however  ex- 
cellent in  itself.  Other  retrenchments  have  also  been  made 
in  respect  to  unimportant  details,  in  order  to  find  room,  with- 
out transgressing  the  prescribed  limits,  for  some  additional 
notes  and  illustrations.  The  latter,  which  are  indicated  by 
brackets,  or  otherwise,  as  they  occur,  consist  almost  exclusive- 
ly of  extracts  from  living  or  late  writers,  or  references  to 
them,  and  are  inserted  with  a  view  to  mark  whatever  prog- 
ress has  been  made  or  attempted  in  ethical  speculation  since 
Mr.  Stewart's  day. 

Some  changes  have  been  made  in  the  distribution  and  num- 
bering of  the  chapters  and  sections,  and  sub-sections  have 
been  introduced  for  the  first  time.  The  use  of  the  latter  in 
giving  a  more  distinct  impression  of  the  successive  steps  in 
the  argument  or  exposition,  no  practised  teacher  will  fail  to 
appreciate.  The  Latin  and  Greek  citations  in  the  text  are 
translated  in  the  present  edition,  where  this  had  not  been  done 
by  the  author.  The  translations  are  taken,  for  the  most  part, 
from  common  sources,  without  particular  acknowledgment, 
the  only  object  being  to  fit  the  work  for  more  general  and 
convenient  use  as  a  text-book. 

CAMBRIDGE,  August  16,  1849. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION,  .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .        1 


BOOK   I. 

OF  OUR  INSTINCTIVE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 

CHAPTER  I. 
OF  OUR  APPETITES,  .         .         .         .10 

CHAPTER  II. 

OF  OUR  DESIRES,          ...          14 

SECT.  I.  The  Desire  of  Knowledge, 15 

II.  The  Desire  of  Society, 19 

III.  The  Desire  of  Esteem, 26 

IV.  The  Desire  of  Power, 41 

V.  Emulation,  or  the  Desire  of  Superiority,     ...  45 

CHAPTER  III. 
OF  OUR  AFFECTIONS. 

SECT.  I.  General  Observations,     ......  53 

II.  Of  the  Affections  of  Kindred, 58 

III.  Of  Friendship, 62 

IV.  Of  Patriotism, 66 

V.  Of  Pity  to  the  Distressed,         .         .   '  ~ .         .         .  75 

b 


CONTENTS. 


VI.  Of  Resentment,  and  the  various  other  Angry  Affec- 
tions grafted  upon  it,  commonly  considered  by 
Ethical  Writers  as  Malevolent  Affections,  .  .  86 


BOOK   II. 

OF  OUR  RATIONAL   AND   GOVERNING  PRINCIPLES 
OF   ACTION. 

CHAPTER    I. 

OF  A  PRUDENTIAL  REGARD  TO  OUR  OWN  HAPPINESS, 
OR  WHAT  IS  COMMONLY  CALLED  BY  MORALISTS 
THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  SELF-LOVE, 96 

CHAPTER   II. 
OF   THE  MORAL  FACULTY. 

SECT.  I.     The  Moral  Faculty  not  resolvable  into  Self-love,       .     108 
II.     Examination  of  Hartley's  Theory  of  the  Formation 

of  the  Moral  Sense  by  Association  alone,      .         .     117 

III.  The  Moral  Constitution  of  Human  Nature  not  dis- 

proved by  the  Diversity  in  Men's  Moral  Judgments,    124 

IV.  Licentious  Systems  of  Morals, 145 

APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  II. 
Bentham  and  his  Followers, 160 

CHAPTER  III. 

ANALYSIS  OF  OUR  MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMO- 
TIONS,   176 

SECT.  I.    Of  the  Perception  of  Right  and  Wrong,         .        .        181 
II.     Of  the  Agreeable  and  Disagreeable  Emotions  arising 
from  the  Perception  of  what  is  Right  and  Wrong 

in  Conduct, 203 

III.    Of  the  Perception  of  Merit  and  Demerit,       .        .        214 


CONTENTS.  VII 

CHAPTER    IV. 
OF  MORAL  OBLIGATION,       .       ...     219 

CHAPTER   V. 

OF  CERTAIN  PRINCIPLES  WHICH  COOPERATE  WITH 
OUR  MORAL  POWERS  IN  THEIR  INFLUENCE  ON 
THE  CONDUCT,  .  .  ...  .  .  .228 

SECT.  I.  Of  Decency,  or  a  Regard  to  Character,  .        .         .  228 

II.  Of  Sympathy,     .         . 229 

III.  Of  the  Sense  of  the  Ridiculous,     ....  245 

IV.  Of  Taste,  considered  in  its  Relation  to  Morals,  .  248 

CHAPTER   VI. 

OF  MAN'S  FREE  AGENCY. 

SECT.  I.     Preliminary  Observations, 251 

II.     Review  of  the  Argument  for  Necessity,     .         .         .    256 

III.  Is  the  Evidence  of  Consciousness  in  Favor  of  the 

Scheme  of  Free-will,  or  of  that  of  Necessity  ?          281 

IV.  Of  the  Schemes  of  Free-will,  and  of  Necessity,  con- 

sidered as  influencing  Practice,      ....     290 
V.     On  the  Argument  for  Necessity  drawn  from  the  Pres- 
cience of  the  Deity,   ......        296 


BOOK   III. 

OF  THE  VARIOUS   BRANCHES  OF  OUR  DUTY. 

CHAPTER  I. 
OF  THE  DUTIES  WHICH  RESPECT  THE   DEITY,      3Q4 

CHAPTER   II. 

OF    THE    DUTIES    WHICH    RESPECT     OUR     FELLOW- 
CREATURES,        .313 

-• 

SECT.  I.    Of  Benevolence,     .        .        .        ,  ^ — .        .        .        314 


V1H  CONTENTS. 

II.    Of  Justice, 329 

III.  Of  the  Right  of  Property,       ...  .340 

IV.  Of  Veracity, 351 

CHAPTER  III. 

OF  THE  DUTIES  WHICH  RESPECT  OURSELVES,  358 

SECT.  I.     Of  the  Duty  of  employing  the  Means  we  possess  to 

secure  our  own  Happiness,    .....  359 

II.     Of  the  Different  Theories  of  Happiness,         .         .  361 

III.     Means  of  promoting  and  securing  Happiness,     .         .  373 


BOOK    IV. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE. 

CHAPTER  I. 
OF  THE  GENERAL  DEFINITION  OF  VIRTUE,     .     395 

CHAPTER  II. 

ON  AN  AMBIGUITY  IN  THE  WORDS  RIGHT  AND  WRONG, 
VIRTUE  AND  VICE, 398 

CHAPTER  III. 

OF  THE  OFFICE  AND  USE  OF  REASON  IN  THE  PRAC- 
TICE OF  MORALITY, 402 

APPENDIX   TO  BOOK  IV. 

SECT.  I.     Sir  James  Mackintosh's  Theory  of  Morals,        .        .    406 
II.     Jouffroy's  Theory  of  Morals,  ....        418 


THE 


PHILOSOPHY 


ACTIVE  AND  MORAL  POWERS  OF  MAN. 


INTRODUCTION. 

I.  Connection  between  the  Intellectual  and  the  Active 
Powers.']  In  my  former  work  on  the  Human  Mind  I 
confined  my  attention  almost  exclusively  to  man  consid- 
ered as  an  intellectual  being ;  and  attempted  an  analysis 
of  those  faculties  and  powers  which  compose  that  part  of 
his  nature  commonly  called  his  intellect  or  his  understand- 
ing. It  is  by  these  faculties  that  he  acquires  his  knowl- 
edge of  external  objects  ;  that  he  investigates  truth  in  the 
sciences  ;  that  he  combines  means  in  order  to  attain  the 
ends  he  has  in  view  ;  and  that  he  imparts  to  his  fellow- 
creatures  the  acquisitions  he  has  made.  A  being  might, 
I  think,  be  conceived,  possessed  of  these  principles,  with- 
out any  of  the  active  propensities  belonging  to  our  species, 
at  least  without  any  of  them  but  the  principle  of  curiosity  ; 
—  a  being  formed  only  for  speculation,  without  any  de- 
termination to  the  pursuit  of  particular  external  objects, 
and  whose  whole  happiness  consisted  in  intellectual  grati- 
fications. 

But,  although  such  a  being  might  perhaps  be  conceived 
to  exist,  and  although,  in  studying  our  internal  frame,  it  be 
convenient  to  treat  of  our  intellectual  powers  apart  from 
our  active  propensities,  yet,  in  fact,  the  two  are  very  inti- 
mately, and  indeed  inseparably,  connected  in  all  our  mental 
1 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

operations.  I  have  already  hinted,  that,  even  in  our  spec- 
ulative inquiries,  the  principle  of  curiosity  is  necessary  to 
account  for  the  exertion  we  make  ;  and  it  is  still  more  ob- 
vious, that  a  combination  of  means  to  accomplish  particular 
ends  presupposes  some  determination  of  our  nature  which 
makes  the  attainment  of  these  ends  desirable.  Our  active 
propensities,  therefore,  are  the  motives  which  induce  us  to 
exert  our  intellectual  powers  ;  and  our  intellectual  powers 
are  the  instruments  by  which  we  attain  the  ends  recom- 
mended to  us  by  our  active  propensities  :  — 

"  Reason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale." 

It  will  afterwards  appear,  that  our  active  propensities 
are  not  only  necessary  to  produce  our  intellectual  exer- 
tions, but  that  the  state  of  the  intellectual  powers,  in  the 
case  of  individuals,  depends,  in  a  great  measure,  on  the 
strength  of  their  propensities,  and  on  the  particular  pro- 
pensities which  are  predominant  in  the  temper  of  their 
minds.  A  man  of  strong  philosophical  curiosity  is  likely 
to  possess  a  much  more  cultivated  and  inventive  under- 
standing than  another  of  equal  natural  capacity,  destitute 
of  the  same  stimulus.  In  like  manner,  the  love  of  fame, 
or  a  strong  sense  of  duty,  may  compensate  for  original  de- 
fects, or  may  lay  the  foundation  of  uncommon  attainments. 
The  intellectual  powers,  too,  may  be  variously  modified  by 
the  habits  arising  from  avarice,  from  the  animal  appetites, 
from  ambition,  or  from  the  benevolent  affections  ;  inso- 
much that  the  moral  principles  of  the  miser,  of  the  elegant 
voluptuary,  of  the  political  intriguer,  and  of  the  philan- 
thropist are  not,  perhaps,  more  dissimilar  than  the  ac- 
quired capacities  of  their  understandings,  and  the  species 
of  information  with  which  their  memories  are  stored. 
Among  the  various  external  indications  of  character,  few- 
circumstances  will  be  found  to  throw  more  light  on  the 
ruling  passions  of  individuals  than  the  habitual  direction  of 
their  studies,  and  the  nature  of  those  accomplishments 
which  they  have  been  ambitious  to  attain. 

When  Montaigne  complains  of  "the  difficulty  he  expe- 
rienced in  remembering  the  names  of  his  servants  ;  of  his 
ignorance  of  the  value  of  the  French  coins  which  he  was 
daily  handling  ;  and  of  his  inability  to  distinguish  the  dif- 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

ferent  kinds  of  grain  from  each  other,  both  in  the  earth 
and  in  the  granary  ";*  his  observations,  instead  of  proving 
the  point  which  he  supposed  them  to  establish  (an  origi- 
nal and  incurable  defect  in  his  faculty  of  memory),  only 
afford  an  illustration  of  the  little  interest  he  took  in  things 
external,  and  of  the  preternatural  and  distempered  en- 
grossment of  his  thoughts  with  the  phenomena  of  the  in- 
ternal world.  To  this  peculiarity  in  his  turn  of  rnind  he 
has  himself  alluded,  when  he  says,  "  I  study  myself  more 
than  any  other  subject.  This  is  my  metaphysic  ;  this  my 
natural  philosophy."  A  person  well  acquainted  with  the 
peculiarities  of  Montaigne's  memory  might,  I  think,  on 
comparing  them  with  the  general  superiority  of  his  mental 
powers,  have  anticipated  him  in  this  specification  of  the 
study  which  almost  exclusively  occupied  his  attention.! 

Helvetius  in  his  book  De  VEsprit  (a  work  which, 
among  many  paradoxical  and  some  very  pernicious  opin- 
ions, contains  a  number  of  acute  and  lively  observations) 
has  prosecuted,  with  considerable  success,  this  last  view 
of  human  nature,  and  has  collected  a  variety  of  amusing 
facts  to  illustrate  the  influence  of  the  passions  on  the  in- 
tellectual powers.  "  It  is  the  passions,"  he  observes, 
"  that  rouse  the  soul  from  its  natural  tendency  to  rest,  and 
surmount  the  vis  inertias  to  which  it  is  always  inclined  to 
yield  ;  and  it  is  the  strong  passions  alone  that  prompt 
men  to  the  execution  of  those  heroic  actions,  and  give 
birth  to  those  sublime  ideas,  which  command  the  admi- 
ration of  ages. 

"  It  is  the  strength  of  passion  alone  that  can  enable  men 
to  defy  dangers,  pain,  and  death.  . 

*  Montaigne's  Essays,  Book  II.  Chap.  xvii. 

t  The  following  remarks  of  the  learned  and  ingenious  Dr.  Jortin  are 
not  unworthy  of  the  attention  of  those  whose  taste  leads  them  to  the 
observation  and  study  of  character. 

"From  the  complexion  of  those  anecdotes  which  a  man  collects  from 
others,  or  which  he  forms  by  his  own  pen,  may,  without  much  diffi- 
culty, be  conjectured  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 

"  The  human  being  is  mightily  given  to  assimilation,  and,  from-  the 
stories  which  any  one  relates  with  spirit,  from  the  general  tenor  of  his 
conversation,  and  from  the  books  or  associates  to  which  he  most  ad- 
dicts his  attention,  the  inference  cannot  be  far  distant  as  to  the  texture 
of  his  mind,  the  vein  of  his  wit,  or,  may  we  add,  the  ruling  passion  of 
his  heart." — Jortin's  Tracts.  Vol.  I.  p.  445. 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

"  It  is  the  passions,  too,  which,  by  keeping  up  a  per- 
petual fermentation  in  our  minds,  fertilize  the  same  ideas, 
which,  in  more  phlegmatic  temperaments,  are  barren,  and 
resemble  seed  scattered  on  a  rock. 

"It  is  the  passions  which,  having  strongly  fixed  our 
attention  on  the  object  of  our  desire,  lead  us  to  view  it 
under  aspects  unknown  to  other  men  ;  and  which,  conse- 
quently, prompt  heroes  to  plan  and  execute  those  hardy 
enterprises  which  must  always  appear  ridiculous  to  the 
multitude  till  the  sagacity  of  their  authors  has  been  evinced 
by  success."* 

To  this  passage,  which  is,  I  think,  just  in  the  main,  I 
have  only  to  object,  that,  in  consequence  of  the  ambiguity 
of  the  word  passion,  it  is  apt  to  suggest  an  erroneous  idea 
of  the  author's  meaning.  It  is  plain  that  he  uses  it  to  de- 
note our  active  principles  in  general  ;  and,  in  this  sense, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  doctrine  is  well  founded  ; 
inasmuch  as,  without  such  principles  as  curiosity,  the  love 
of  fame,  ambition,  avarice,  or  the  love  of  mankind,  our  in- 
tellectual capacities  would  for  ever  remain  sterile  and  use- 
less. But  it  is  not  in  this  sense  that  the  word  passion  is 
most  commonly  employed.  In  its  ordinary  acceptation  it 
denotes  those  animal  impulses  which,  although  they  may 
sometimes  prompt  to  intellectual  exertion,  are  certainly 
on  the  whole  unfavorable  to  intellectual  improvement. 
Helvetius  himself  has  not  always  attended  to  this  ambi- 
guity of  language  ;  and  hence  may  be  traced  many  of  the 
paradoxes  and  errors  of  his  philosophy. 

To  these  slight  remarks  it  may  not  be  useless  to  sub- 
join an  observation  of  La  Rochefoucauld,  which  is  equally 
refined  and  just ;  and  which,  in  its  practical  tendency, 
calls  the  attention  to  a  source  of  danger  in  a  quarter 
where  it  is  too  seldom  apprehended.  "It  is  a  mistake 
to  believe  that  none  but  the  violent  passions,  such  as  am- 
bition and  love,  are  able  to  triumph  over  the  other  active 
principles.  Laziness,  as  languid  as  it  is,  often  gets  the 
mastery  of  them  all  ;  overrules  all  the  designs  and  actions 
of  life,  and  insensibly  consumes  and  destroys  both  passions 
and  virtues."  f 

*  De  V Esprit,  Discours  III.  Chap.  vi.    . 
I  Sentences  et  Maximes,  cclxvi. 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

From  the  foregoing  observations  it  appears,  that,  in  ac- 
counting for  the  diversities  of  genius  and  of  intellectual 
character  among  men,  important  lights  may  be  derived 
from  an  examination  of  their  active  propensities.  It  is  of 
more  consequence  for  me,  however,  to  remark  at  present 
the  intimate  relation  which  an  analysis  of  these  propensi- 
ties bears  to  the  theory  of  morals,  and  its  practical  con- 
nection with  our  opinions  on  the  duties  and  the  happiness 
of  human  life.  Indeed,  it  is  in  this  way  alone  that  the 
light  of  nature  enables  us  to  form  any  reasonable  conclu- 
sions concerning  the  ends  and  destination  of  our  being, 
and  the  purposes  for  which  we  were  sent  into  the  world  : 
Quid  sumus,  et  quidnam  victuri  gignimur.*  It  forms, 
therefore,  a  necessary  introduction  to  the  science  of  ethics, 
or  rather  is  the  foundation  on  which  that  science  may  rest. 

II.  Object  and  Plan  of  the  Work.]  In  prosecuting  our 
inquiries  into  the  Active  and  the  Moral  Powers  of  Man, 
I  propose,  first,  to  attempt  a  classification  and  analysis  of 
the  most  important  principles  belonging  to  this  part  of 
our  constitution  ;  and,  secondly,  to  treat  of  the  various 
branches  of  our  duty.  Under  the  former  of  these  heads, 
my  principal  aim  will  be  to  illustrate  the  essential  distinc- 
tion between  those  active  principles  which  originate  in 
man's  rational  nature,  and  those  which  urge  him,  by  a 
blind  and  instinctive  impulse,  to  their  respective  objects. 

In  general,  it  may  be  here  remarked,  that  the  word 
action  is  properly  applied  to  those  exertions  which  are 
consequent  on  volition,  whether  the  exertion  be  made  on 
external  objects,  or  be  confined  to  our  mental  operations. 
Thus,  we  say  the  mind  is  active  when  engaged  in  study. 
In  ordinary  discourse,  indeed,  we  are  apt  to  confound  to- 
gether action  and  motion.  As  the  operations  in  the  minds 
of  other  men  escape  our  notice,  we  can  judge  of  their 
activity  only  from  the  sensible  effects  it  produces  ;  and 
hence  we  are  led  to  apply  the  character  of  activity  tov 
those  whose  bodily  activity  is  the  most  remarkable,  and  to 
distinguish  mankind  into  two  classes,  the  active  and  the 
speculative.  In  the  present  instance,  the  word  active  is 

*  Persitfs,  Sat.  III.  1.  67. 
1* 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

used  in  its  most  extensive  signification,  as  applicable  to 
every  voluntary  exertion. 

According  to  the  definition  now  given  of  the  word  ac- 
tion, the  primary  sources  of  our  activity  are  the  circum- 
stances in  which  the  acts  of  the  will  originate.  Of  these 
there  are  some  which  make  a  part  of  our  constitution, 
and  which,  on  that  account,  are  called  active  principles. 
Such  are  hunger,  thirst,  the  appetite  which  unites  the 
sexes,  curiosity,  ambition,  pity,  resentment.  These  ac- 
tive principles  are  also  called  powers  of  the  will,  because, 
by  stimulating  us  in  various  ways  to  action,  they  afford 
exercise  to  our  sense  of  duty  and  our  other  rational  prin- 
ciples of  action,  and  give  occasion  to  our  voluntary  deter- 
minations as  free  agents. 

III.  Difficulty  of  the  Study.]  The  study  of  this  part 
of  our  constitution,  although  it  may  at  first  view  seem  to 
lie  more  open  to  our  examination  than  the  powers  of  the 
understanding,  is  attended  with  some  difficulties  peculiar 
to  itself.  For  this  various  reasons  may  be  assigned  ; 
among  which  there  are  two  that  seem  principally  to  claim 
our  attention. 

1 .  When  we  wish  to  examine  the  nature  of  any  of  our 
intellectual  principles,  we  can  at  all  times  subject  the 
faculty  in  question  to  the  scrutiny  of  reflection ;  and  can 
institute  whatever  experiments  with  respect  to  it  may  be 
necessary  for  ascertaining  its  general  laws.  It  is  charac- 
teristic of  all  our  operations  purely  intellectual  to  leave 
the  mind  cool  and  undisturbed,  so  that  the  exercise  of  the 
faculties  concerned  in  them  does  not  prevent  us  from  an 
analytical  investigation  of  their  theory.  The  case  is  very 
different  with  our  active  powers,  particularly  with  those 
which,  from  their  violence  and  impetuosity,  have  the 
greatest  influence  on  human  happiness.  When  we  are 
under  the  dominion  of  the  power,  or,  in  plainer  language, 
when  we  are  hurried  by  passion  to  the  pursuit  of  a  par- 
ticular end,  we  feel  no  inclination  to  speculate  concerning 
the  mental  phenomena.  When  the  tumult  subsides,  and 
our  curiosity  is  awakened  concerning  the  past,  the  moment 
for  observation  and  experiment  is  lost,  and  we  are  obliged 
to  search  for  our  facts  in  an  imperfect  recollection  of  what 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

was  viewed,  even  in  the  first  instance,  through  the  most 
troubled  and  deceitful  of  all  media. 

Something  connected  with  this  is  the  following  remark 
of  Mr.  Hume  :  — "  Moral  philosophy  has  this  peculiar  dis- 
advantage, which  is  not  to  be  found  in  natural,  that,  in  col- 
lecting its  experiments,  it  cannot  make  them  purposely, 
with  premeditation,  and  after  such  a  manner  as  to  satisfy 
itself  concerning  every  particular  difficulty  that  may  arise. 
When  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  the  effects  of  one  body  upon 
another  in  any  situation,  I  need  only  put  them  in  that  situ- 
ation, and  observe  what  results  from  it.  But  should  I  en- 
deavour to  clear  up,  after  the  same  manner,  any  doubts  in 
moral  philosophy,  by  placing  myself  in  the  same  case  with 
that  which  I  consider,  it  is  evident  that  this  reflection  and 
premeditation  would  so  disturb  the  operation  of  my  natu- 
ral principles,  as  must  render  it  impossible  to  form  any 
just  conclusion  from  the  phenomenon.  We  must  there- 
fore glean  up  our  experiments  in  this  science  from  a  cau- 
tious observation  of  human  life,  and  take  them  as  they 
appear  in  the  common  course  of  the  world,  by  men's  be- 
haviour in  company,  in  affairs,  and  in  their  pleasures."* 

2.  Another  circumstance  which  adds  much  to  the  diffi- 
culty of  this  branch  of  study  is  the  great  variety  of  our 
active  principles,  and  the  endless  diversity  of  their  combi- 
nations in  the  characters  of  men.  The  same  action  may 
proceed  from  very  different,  and  even  opposite,  motives  in 
the  case  of  two  individuals,  and  even  in  the  same  individu- 
al on  different  occasions  ;  —  or  an  action  which  in  one 
man  proceeds  from  a  single  motive  may,  in  another,  pro- 
ceed from  a  number  of  motives  conspiring  together  and 
modifying  each  other's  effects.  The  philosophers  who 
have  speculated  on  this  subject  have  in  general  been  mis- 
led by  an  excessive  love  of  simplicity,  and  have  attempted 
to  explain  the  phenomena  from  the  smallest  possible  num- 
ber of  data.  Overlooking  the  real  complication  of  our 
active  principles,  they  have  sometimes  fixed  on  a  single 
one,  (good  or  bad,  according  as  they  were  disposed  to 
think  well  or  ill  of  human  nature,)  and  have  deduced  from 
it  a  plausible  explanation  of  all  the  varieties  of  human 
character  and  conduct. 

*  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Vol.  I.,  Introduction. 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

Our  inquiries  on  this  subject  must  be  conducted  in  one 
of  two  ways,  either  by  studying  the  characters  of  other 
men,  or  by  studying  our  own.  In  the  former  way,  we 
may  undoubtedly  collect  many  useful  hints,  and  many  facts 
to  confirm  or  to  limit  our  conclusions  ;  but  the  conjectures 
we  form  concerning  the  motives  of  others  are  liable  to  so 
much  uncertainty,  that  it  is  chiefly  by  attending  to  what 
passes  in  our  own  minds  that  we  can  reasonably  hope  to 
ascertain  the  general  laws  of  our  constitution  as  active  and 
moral  beings. 

Even  this  plan  of  study,  however,  as  I  have  already  hint- 
ed, requires  uncommon  perseverance,  and  still  more  un- 
common candor.  The  difficulty  is  great  of  attending  to  any 
of  the  operations  of  the  mind  ;  but  this  difficulty  is  much 
increased  in  those  cases  in  which  we  are  led  by  vanity  or 
timidity  to  fancy  that  we  have  an  interest  in  concealing 
the  truth  from  our  own  knowledge. 

Most  men,  perhaps,  are  disposed,  in  consequence  of 
these  and  some  other  causes,  to  believe  themselves  better 
than  they  really  are  ;  and  a  few,  there  is  reason  to  sus- 
pect, go  into  the  opposite  extreme,  from  the  influence  of 
false  systems  of  philosophy  or  religion,  or  from  the  gloomy 
views  inspired  by  a  morbid  melancholy. 

When  to  these  considerations  we  add  the  endless  meta- 
physical disputes  on  the  subject  of  the  will,  and  of  man's 
free  agency,  it  may  easily  be  conceived  that  the  field  of 
inquiry  upon  which  we  are  now  to  enter  abounds  with 
questions  not  less  curious  and  intricate  than  any  of  those 
which  have  been  hitherto  under  our  review.  In  point  of 
practical  importance  some  of  them  will  be  found  in  a  still 
higher  degree  entitled  to  our  attention. 

IV.  Division  of  the  Active  Principles.]  In  the  further 
prosecution  of  this  subject,  I  shall  avoid,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, all  technical  divisions  and  classifications,  and  shall 
content  myself  with  the  following  enumeration  of  our 
Active  Principles,  which  I  hope  will  be  found  sufficiently 
distinct  and  comprehensive  for  our  purposes. 

1.  APPETITES. 

2.  DESIRES. 

3.  AFFECTIONS. 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

4.  SELF-LOVE. 

5.  THE  MORAL  FACULTY. 

The  first  three  may  be  distinguished  (for  a  reason  which 
will  afterwards  appear)  by  the  title  of  INSTINCTIVE  OR 
IMPLANTED  PROPENSITIES  ;  the  last  two  by  the  title  of 
RATIONAL  AND  GOVERNING  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION.* 

*  In  the  above  enumeration  I  have  departed  widely  from  Dr.  Reid's 
language.  See  his  Essays  on  the  Active,  Powers,  Essay  III.,  Parts  I.,  II., 
and  111.  This  great  philosopher,  with  whom  I  am  always  unwilling  to 
differ,  refers  our  active  principles  to  three  classes,  the  mechanical,  the 
animal,  and  the  rational ;  using  all  these  three  words  with  what  I  think 
a  very  exceptionable  latitude.  On  this  occasion  I  shall  only  observe,  that 
the  word  mechanical  (under  which  he  comprehends  our  instincts  and 
habits)  cannot,  in  my  opinion,  be  properly  applied  to  any  of  our  active 
principles.  It  is  indeed  used,  in  this  instance,  merely  as  a  term  of  dis- 
tinction ;  but  it  seems  to  imply  some  theory  concerning  the  nature  of 
the  principles  comprehended  under  it,  and  is  apt  to  suggest  incorrect 
notions  on  the  subject. 

If  I  had  been  disposed  to  examine  this  part  of  our  constitution  with 
all  the  minute  accuracy  of  which  it  is  susceptible,  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred the  following  arrangement  to  that  whicn  I  have  adopted,  as  well 
as  to  that  proposed  by  Dr.  Reid  :  —  1.  Of  our  original  principles  of  ac- 
tion. 3.  Of  our  acquired  principles  of  action. 

The  original  principles  of  action  may  be  subdivided  into  the  animal 
and  the  rational ;  to  the  former  of  which  classes  our  instincts  ought  un- 
doubtedly to  be  referred,  as  well  as  our  appetites.  In  Dr.  Reid's  ar- 
rangement, nothing  appears  more  unaccountable,  if  not  capricious,  than 
to  call  our  appetites  animal  principles,  because  they  are  common  to 
man  and  to  the  brutes ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  distinguish  our  in- 
stincts by  the  title  of  mechanical ;  —  when,  of  all  our  active  propensi- 
ties, there  are  none  in  which  the  nature  of  man  bears  so  strong  an 
analogy  to  that  of  the  lower  animals  as  in  these  instinctive  impulses. 
Indeed,  it  is  from  the  condition  of  the  brutes  that  the  word  instinct  is 
transferred  to  that  of  man  by  a  sort  of  figure  or  metaphor. 

Our  acquired  principles  of  action  comprehend  all  those  propensities 
to  act  which  we  acquire  from  habit.  Such  are  our  artificial  appetites 
and  artificial  desires,  and  the  various  factitious  motives  of  human  con- 
duct generated  by  association  and  fashion. 

At  present,  it  being  useless  for  any  of  the  purposes  which  I  have  in 
view  to  attempt  so  comprehensive  and  detailed  an  examination  of  the 
subject,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  the  general  enumeration  already  men- 
tioned. As  our  appetites,  our  desires,  and  our  affections,  whether 
original  or  acquired,  stand  in  the  same  common  relation  to  the  Moral 
Faculty  (the  illustration  of  which  is  the  chief  object  of  this  volume),  I 
purposely  avoid  those  slighter  and  less  important  subdivisions  which 
might  be  thought  to  savour  unnecessarily  of  scholastic  subtilty. 

[  For  later  classifications  of  our  Active  Principles,  see  Upham's 
Elements  of  Mental  Philosophy,  Vol.  II.,  Introduction,  Chap,  li.,  and 
Whewell's  Elements  of  Morality,  B.  I.  Chap,  ii.] 


BOOK    I.      * 

OF   OUR  INSTINCTIVE   PRINCIPLES   OF   ACTION. 


CHAPTER    I. 

OF    OUR    APPETITES. 

I.  Their  JVaJure,  Use,  and  Jlbuse.~\  This  class  of  our 
Active  Principles  is  distinguished  by  the  following  cir- 
cumstances :  — 

1.  They  take  their  rise  from  the  body,  and  are  com- 
mon to  us  with  the  brutes. 

2.  They  are  not  constant,  but  occasional. 

3.  They  are  accompanied  with  an  uneasy   sensation, 
which  is  strong  or  weak  in  proportion  to  the  strength  or 
weakness  of  the  appetite. 

Our  appetites  are  three  in  number,  hunger,  thirst,  and 
the  appetite  of  sex.  Of  these,  two  were  intended  for 
the  preservation  of  the  individual  ;  the  third  for  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  species  ;  and  without  them  reason  would 
have  been  insufficient  for  these  important  purposes.  Sup- 
pose, for  example,  that  the  appetite  of  hunger  had  been 
no  part  of  our  constitution,  reason  and  experience  might 
have  satisfied  us  of  the  necessity  of  food  to  our  preserva- 
tion ;  but  how  should  we  have  been  able,  without  an  im- 
planted principle,  to  ascertain,  according  to  the  varying 
state  of  our  animal  economy,  the  proper  seasons  for  eat- 
ing, or  the  quantity  of  food  that  is  salutary  to  the  body  ? 
The  lower  animals  not  only  receive  this  information  from 
nature,  but  are,  moreover,  directed  by  instinct  to  the  par- 
ticular sort  of  food  that  is  proper  for  them  to  use  in 
health  and  in  sickness.  The  senses  of  taste  and  smell, 
in  the  savage  state  of  our  species,  are  subservient,  at 
least  in  some  degree,  to  the  same  purpose. 


APPETITES.  11 

Our  appetites  can,  with  no  propriety,  be  called  selfish, 
for  they  are  directed  to  their  respective  objects  as  ultimate 
ends,  and  they  must  all  have  operated,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, prior  to  any  experience  of  the  pleasure  arising 
from  their  gratification.  Jlfter  this  experience,  indeed, 
the  desire  of  enjoyment  will  naturally  come  to  be  com- 
bined with  the  appetite ;  and  it  may  sometimes  lead  us  to 
stimulate  or  provoke  the  appetite  with  a  view  to  the  pleas- 
ure which  is  to  result  from  indulging  it.  Imagination, 
too,  and  the  association  of  ideas,  together  with  the  social 
affections,  and  sometimes  the  moral  faculty,  lend  their 
aid,  and  all  conspire  together  in  forming  a  complex  pas- 
sion, in  which  the  animal  appetite  is  only  one  ingredient. 
In  proportion  as  this  passion  is  gratified,  its  influence  over 
the  conduct  becomes  the  more  irresistible,  (for  all  the 
active  determinations  of  our  nature  are  strengthened  by 
habit,)  till  at  last  we  struggle  in  vain  against  its  tyranny. 
A  man  so  enslaved  by  his  animal  appetites  exhibits  human- 
ity in  one  of  its  most  miserable  and  contemptible  forms. 

As  an  additional  proof  of  the  misery  of  such  a  state, 
it  is  of  great  importance  to  remark,  that,  while  habit 
strengthens  all  our  active  determinations,  it  diminishes  the 
liveliness  of  our  passive  impressions ;  —  a  remarkable 
instance  of  which  occurs  in  the  effects  produced  by  an 
immoderate  use  of  strong  liquors,  which,  at  the  same 
time  that  it  confirms  the  active  habit  of  intemperance, 
deadens  and  destroys  the  sensibility  of  the  palate.  In 
consequence  of  this  law  of  our  nature,  the  evils  of  exces- 
sive indulgence  are  doubled,  inasmuch  as  our  sensibility 
to  pleasure  decays  in  proportion  as  the  cravings  of  appe- 
tite increase. 

In  general,  it  will  be  found,  that,  wherever  we  attempt 
to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  enjoyment  beyond  the  limits  pre- 
scribed by  nature,  we  frustrate  our  own  purpose. 

A  man  so  enslaved  by  his  appetites  may  undoubtedly, 
in  one  sense,  be  called  selfish  ;  for,  as  he  must  necessarily 
neglect  the  duties  he  owes  to  others,  he  may  be  presumed 
to  be  deficient  in  the  benevolent  affections.  But  it  cannot 
be  said  of  him  that  he  is  actuated  by  an  inordinate  self- 
love,  (meaning  by  that  word  an  excessive  regard  for  his 
own  happiness,)  for  he  sacrifices  to  the  meanest  gratifica- 


12  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

tions  all  the  noblest  pleasures  of  which  he  is  susceptible, 
and  sacrifices  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment  the  perma- 
nent enjoyments  of  health,  reputation,  and  conscience. 
This  is  true  even  when  the  desire  of  gratification  is  com- 
bined with  the  original  appetite  ;  for  no  two  principles 
can  be  more  widely  at  variance  than  the  desire  of  gratifi- 
cation and  the  desire  of  happiness. 

Of  the  errors  introduced  into  morals,  in  consequence  of 
the  vague  use  of  the  words  selfishness  and  self-love,  I 
shall  afterwards  take  notice.  What  1  wish  chiefly  to  re- 
mark at  present  is,  that  in  no  sense  of  these  words  can  we 
refer  to  them  the  origin  of  our  animal  appetites  ;  and  that 
the  active  propensities  comprehended  under  this  title  are 
ultimate  facts  in  the  human  constitution. 

II.  Acquired  Appetites.']  Besides  our  natural  appetites 
we  have  many  acquired  ones.  Such  are  our  appetite  for 
tobacco,  for  opium,  and  for  other  intoxicating  drugs.  In 
general,  every  thing  that  stimulates  the  nervous  system 
produces  a  subsequent  languor,  which  gives  rise  to  a  de- 
sire of  repetition. 

The  universality  of  this  appetite  for  intoxicating  drugs 
is  a  curious  fact  in  the  history  of  our  species.  "  It  seems," 
says  Dr.  Robertson,  "to  have  been  one  of  the  first  ex- 
ertions of  human  ingenuity  to  discover  some  composi- 
tion of  an  intoxicating  quality  ;  and  there  is  hardly  any 
nation  so  rude,  or  so  destitute  of  invention,  as  not  to  have 
succeeded  in  this  fatal  research.  The  most  barbarous  of 
the  American  tribes  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  attain 
this  art ;  and  even  those  who  are  so  deficient  in  knowl- 
edge as  to  be  unacquainted  with  the  method  of  giving  an 
inebriating  strength  to  liquors  by  fermentation  can  accom- 
plish the  same  end  by  other  means.  The  people  of  the 
islands  of  North  America  and  of  California  used  for  this 
purpose  the  smoke  of  tobacco,  drawn  up  with  a  certain 
instrument  into  the  nostrils,  the  fumes  of  which  ascending 
to  the  brain,  they  felt  all  the  transports  and  frenzy  of  in- 
toxication. In  almost  every  part  of  the  New  World  the 
natives  possessed  the  art  of  extracting  an  intoxicating 
liquor  from  maize,  or  the  manioc  root,  the  same  sub- 
stances which  they  convert  into  bread.  The  operation 


APPETITES.  13 

by  which  they  effect  this  nearly  resembles  the  common 
one  of  brewing,  but  with  this  difference,  that,  instead  of 
yeast,  they  use  a  nauseous  infusion  of  maize  or  manioc 
chewed  by  their  women.  The  saliva  excites  a  vigorous 
fermentation,  and  in  a  few  days  the  liquor  becomes  fit  for 
drinking.  It  is  not  disagreeable  to  the  taste,  and,  when 
swallowed  in  large  quantities,  is  of  an  inebriating  quality. 
This  is  the  general  beverage  of  the  Americans,  which  they 
distinguish  by  different  names,  and  for  which  they  feel 
such  a  violent  and  insatiable  desire,  as  it  is  not  easy  either 
to  conceive  or  describe."  * 

Many  striking  confirmations  of  this  remark  occur  in  the 
voyages  of  Cook  and  of  later  navigators. 

III.  Other  analogous  Propensities. ]  Our  occasional 
propensities  to  action  and  to  repose  are,  in  many  respects, 
analogous  to  our  appetites.  They  have,  indeed,  all  the 
three  characteristics  of  our  appetites  already  mentioned. 
They  are  common,  too,  to  man  and  to  the  lower  animals, 
and  they  operate,  in  our  own  species,  in  the  most  infant 
state  of  the  individual.  In  general,  every  animal  we  know 
is  prompted  by  an  instinctive  impulse  to  take  that  degree 
of  exercise  which  is  salutary  to  the  body,  and  is  prevent- 
ed from  passing  the  bounds  of  moderation  by  that  languor 
and  desire  of  repose  which  are  the  consequences  of  con- 
tinued exertion. 

There  is  something,  also,  very  similar  to  this  with  respect 
to  the  mind.  We  are  impelled  by  nature  to  the  exercise 
of  its  different  faculties,  and  we  are  warned,  when  we  are 
in  danger  of  overstraining  them,  by  a  consciousness  of 
fatigue.  After  we  are  exhausted  by  a  long  course  of  ap- 
plication to  business,  how  delightful  are  the  first  moments 
of  indolence  and  repose  !  0  che  bella  cosa  difar  nienle  ! 
We  are  apt  to  imagine  that  no  inducement  shall  again  lead 
us  to  engage  in  the  bustle  of  the  world  :  but,  after  a  short 
respite  from  our  labors,  our  intellectual  vigor  returns  ; 
the  mind  rouses  from  its  lethargy  "  like  a  giant  from  his 
sleep,"  and  we  feel  ourselves  urged  by  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse to  return  to  our  duties  as  members  of  society. 

*  History  of  America,  Book  IV.  §  100. 

2 


14  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION, 

The  active  principles  already  mentioned  are  common  to 
man  and  to  the  brutes.  But  besides  these,  the  latter  have 
some  instinctive  impulses,  of  which  I  do  not  know  that 
there  are  any  traces  to  be  found  in  the  human  race.  Such 
are  those  antipathies  which  they  discover  against  the  natu- 
ral enemies  of  their  respective  tribes.  It  is  probable,  I 
think,  that  their  existence  is  guarded  entirely  by  their 
appetites  and  antipathies  ;  for  the  desire  of  self-preserva- 
tion implies  a  degree  of  reason  and  reflection  which  they 
do  not  appear  to  possess.  Even  in  the  case  of  man,  this 
desire  is  probably  the  result  of  his  experience  of  the 
pleasures  which  life  affords  ;  and,  accordingly,  as  Dr. 
Beattie  very  finely  remarks,  Milton  has,  with  exquisite 
judgment,  represented  Adam,  in  the  first  moments  of  his 
being,  as  contemplating,  without  anxiety  or  regret,  the 
idea  of  immediate  annihilation  :  — 

"  While  thus  I  called  and  strayed  I  knew  not  whither 
From  where  I  first  drew  air,  and  first  beheld 
This  happy  light,  when  answer  none  returned, 
On  a  green,  shady  bank  profuse  of  flowers 
Pensive  I  sat  me  down.     There  gentle  sleep 
First  found  me,  and  with  soft  oppression  seized 
My  drowzied  sense  ;  UNTROUBLED,  though  I  thought 
I  then  was  passing  to  my  former  state 
Insensible,  and  forthwith  to  dissolve."* 


CHAPTER   II. 

OF     OUR    DESIRES. 

OUR  desires  are  distinguished  from  our   appetites  by 
the  following  circumstances  :  — 

1 .  They  do  not  take  their  rise  from  the  body. 

2.  They  do  not  operate  periodically  after  certain  inter- 
vals, nor  do  they  cease  after  the  attainment  of  a  particular 
object. 

*  Paradise  Lost,  Book  VIII.  283. 


DESIRE    OF    KNOWLEDGE.  15 

The  most  remarkable  active  principles  belonging  to 
this  class  are, — 

1.  The  DESIRE  OF  KNOWLEDGE,  or  the  principle  of 
CURIOSITY. 

2.  The  DESIRE  OF  SOCIETY. 

3.  The  DESIRE  OF  ESTEEM. 

4.  The  DESIRE  OF  POWER,  or  the  principle  of  AM- 
BITION. 

5.  The  DESIRE  OF  SUPERIORITY,  or  the  principle 
of  SIMULATION. 

SECTION  I. 

THE    DESIRE    OF    KNOWLEDGE. 

I.  Early  and  various  Manifestations.]  The  principle 
of  curiosity  appears  in  children  at  a  very  early  period,  and 
is  commonly  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  intellectual 
capacity  they  possess.  The  direction,  too,  which  it  takes 
is  regulated  by  nature  according  to  the  order  of  our  wants 
and  necessities  ;  being  confined,  in  the  first  instance,  ex- 
clusively to  those  properties  of  material  objects,  and  those 
laws  of  the  material  world,  an  acquaintance  with  which 
is  essential  to  the  preservation  of  our  animal  existence. 
Hence  the  instinctive  eagerness  with  which  children  handle 
and  examine  every  thing  which  is  presented  to  them  ;  an 
employment  which  we  are  commonly  apt  to  consider  as  a 
mere  exercise  of  their  animal  powers,  but  which,  if  we 
reflect  on  the  limited  province  of  sight  prior  to  experience, 
and  on  the  early  period  of  life  at  which  we  are  able  to 
judge  by  the  eye  of  the  distances  and  of  the  tangible  qual- 
ities of  bodies,  will  appear  plainly  to  be  the  most  useful 
occupation  in  which  they  could  be  engaged,  if  it  were  in 
the  power  of  a  philosopher  to  have  the  regulation  of  their 
attention  from  the  hour  of  their  birth.  In  more  advanced 
years  curiosity  displays  itself  in  one  way  or  another  in 
every  individual,  and  gives  rise  to  an  infinite  diversity  in 
their  pursuits, —  engrossing  the  attention  of  one  man  about 
physical  causes,  of  another  about  mathematical  truths,  of 
a  third  about  historical  facts,  of  a  fourth  about  the  objects 
of  natural  history,  of  a  fifth  about  the  transactions  of  pri- 
vate families,  or  about  the  politics  and  news  of  the  day. 


16  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

Whether  this  diversity  be  owing  to  natural  predisposi- 
tion, or  to  early  education,  it  is  of  little  consequence 
to  determine,  as,  upon  either  supposition,  a  preparation  is 
made  for  it  in  the  original  constitution  of  the  mind,  com- 
bined with  the  circumstances  of  our  external  situation.  Its 
final  cause  is  also  sufficiently  obvious,  as  it  is  this  which 
gives  rise  in  the  case  of  individuals  to  a  limitation  of  atten- 
tion and  study,  and  lays  the  foundation  of  all  the  advan- 
tages which  society  derives  from  the  division  and  subdi- 
vision of  intellectual  labor. 

II.  Neither  Selfish  nor  .Moral  in  itself.]  These  advan- 
tages are  so  great,  that  some  philosophers  have  attempted 
to  resolve  the  desire  of  knowledge  into  self-love.  But  to 
this  theory  the  same  objection  may  be  stated  which  has 
already  been  made  to  the  attempts  of  some  philosophers  to 
account,  in  a  similar  way,  for  the  origin  of  our  appetites  ; 
— that  all  of  these  are  active  principles,  manifestly  directed 
by  nature  to  particular  specific  objects,  as  their  ultimate 
ends  ;  —  that  as  the  object  of  hunger  is  not  happiness,  but 
food,  so  the  object  of  curiosity  is  not  happiness,  but  knowl- 
edge. To  this  analogy  Cicero  has  very  beautifully  alluded, 
when  he  calls  knowledge  the  natural  food  of  the  under- 
standing. "  Est  animorum  ingeniorumque  nostrorum  na- 
turale  quoddam  quasi  pabulum  consideratio  contempla- 
tioque  naturae."  We  can  indeed  conceive  a  being 
prompted  merely  by  the  cool  desire  of  happiness  to  accu- 
mulate information  ;  but  in  a  creature  like  man,  endowed 
with  a  variety  of  other  active  principles,  the  stock  of  his 
knowledge  would  probably  have  been  scanty,  unless  self- 
love  had  been  aided  in  this  particular  by  the  principle  of 
curiosity. 

Although,  however,  the  desire  of  knowledge  is  not  re- 
solvable into  self-love,  it  is  not  in  itself  an  object  of  moral 
approbation.  A  person  may  indeed  employ  his  Intel-  - 
lectual  powers  with  a  vie\v  to  his  own  moral  improve- 
ment, or  to  the  happiness  of  society,  and  so  far  he  acts 
from  a  laudable  principle.  But  to  prosecute  study  merely 
from  the  uesire  of  knowledge  is  neither  virtuous  nor 
vicious.  When  not  suffered  to  interfere  with  our  duties 
it  is  morally  innocent.  The  virtue  or  vice  does  not  lie  in 


DESIRE    OF    KNOWLEDGE.  17 

the  desire,  but  in  the  proper  or  improper  regulation  of  it. 
The  ancient  astronomer  who,  when  accused  of  indifference 
with  respect  to  public  transactions,  answered  that  his 
country  was  in  the  heavens,  acted  criminally,  inasmuch 
as  he  suffered  his  desire  of  knowledge  to  interfere  with  the 
duties  which  he  owed  to  mankind. 

III.  But  superior  in  Dignity  and  Use  to  thedlppetites.] 
At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  desire  of 
knowledge  (and  the  same  observation  is  applicable  to  our 
other  desires)  is  of  a  more  dignified  nature  than  those 
appetites  which  are  common  to  us  with  the  brutes.  A 
thirst  for  science  has  been  always  considered  as  a  mark  of 
a  liberal  and  elevated  mind ;  and  it  generally  cooperates 
with  the  moral  faculty  in  forming  us  to  those  habits  of  self- 
government  which  enable  us  to  keep  our  animal  appetites 
in  due  subjection. 

There  is  another  circumstance  which  renders  this  de- 
sire peculiarly  estimable,  that  it  is  always  accompanied 
with  a  strong  desire  to  communicate  our  knowledge  to 
others  ;  insomuch,  that  it  has  been  doubted  if  the  principle 
of  curiosity  would  be  sufficiently  powerful  to  animate  the 
intellectual  exertions  of  any  man  in  a  long  course  of  per- 
severing study,  if  he  had  no  prospect  of  being  ever  able 
to  impart  his  acquisitions  to  his  friends  or  to  the  public. 
"Si  quis  in  coelum  ascendisset,"  says  Cicero,  "  natu- 
ramque  mundi  et  pulchritudinem  siderum  perspexisset,  in- 
suavem  illam  admirationem  ei  fore,  quse  jucundissima  fuis- 
set,  si  aliquem  cui  narraret  habuisset.  Sic  natura  solita- 
rium  nihil  amat,  semperque  ad  aliquod  quasi  adminiculum 
annititur,  quod  in  amicissimo  quoque  dulcissimum  est."  * 
And  to  the  same  purpose  Seneca  :  —  "Nee  me  ulla  res 
delectabit,  licet  eximia  sit  et  salutaris,  quam  tnihi  uni 

*  De  rfmicitia,  23.  Thus  translated,  or  rather  paraphrased,  by  Mel- 
moth: — '"  Were  a  man  to  be  carried  up  to  heaven,  and  the  beauties  of 
universal  nature  displayed  to  his  view,  he  would  receive  but  little 
pleasure  from  the  wonderful  scene,  if  there  were  none  to  whom  he 
might  relate  the  glories  he  had  beheld.  Human  nature,  indeed,  is  so 
constituted  as  to  be  incapable  of  lonely  satisfaction  :  man,  like  those 
plants  which  are  formed  to  embrace  others,  is  led  by  an  instinctive  im- 
pu'fee  to  recline  on  his  species;  and  he  finds  his  happiest  and  most  se- 
cure support  in  the  arms  of  a  faithful  friend." 

2* 


18  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

sciturus  sim.  Si  cum  hac  exceptione  detur  sapientia,  ut 
illam  inclusam  teneam,  nee  enunciem,  rejiciam :  nullius 
boni,  sine  socio,  jucunda  possessio  est."  * 

A  strong  curiosity,  properly  directed,  may  be  justly  con- 
sidered as  one  of  the  most  important  elements  in  philosoph- 
ical genius  ;  and,  accordingly,  there  is  no  circumstance 
of  greater  consequence  in  education  than  to  keep  the  cu- 
riosity always  awake,  and  to  turn  it  to  useful  pursuits.  I 
cannot  help,  therefore,  disapproving  greatly  of  a  very  com- 
mon practice  in  this  country,  that  of  communicating  to 
children  general  and  superficial  views  of  science  and  his- 
tory by  means  of  popular  introductions.  In  this  way  we 
rob  their  future  studies  of  all  that  interest  which  can 
render  study  agreeable,  and  reduce  the  mind,  in  the  pur- 
suits of  science,  to  the  same  state  of  listlessness  and  lan- 
guor as  when  we  toil  through  the  pages  of  a  tedious  novel 
after  being  made  acquainted  with  the  final  catastrophe. 

It  would  contribute  greatly  to  the  culture  and  the  guid- 
ance of  this  principle  of  curiosity,  if  the  different  sciences 
were  taught  as  much  as  possible  in  the  order  of  the  ana- 
lytic rather  than  in  that  of  the  synthetic  method  ;f  a  plan, 
however,  which  I  readily  admit  it  is  not  so  practicable  to 
carry  into  effect  in  a  course  of  public  as  of  private  instruc- 
tion. Such  a  mode  of  education,  too,  would  be  attended 
with  the  additional  advantage  of  accustoming  the  student 
to  the  proper  method  of  investigation  ;  and  thereby  pre- 
paring him  in  due  time  to  enter  on  the  career  of  invention 
and  discovery.  Nor  is  this  all.  It  would  impress  the 
knowledge  he  thus  acquired,  in  some  measure  by  his  own 
ingenuity,  much  more  deeply  on  his  memory  than  if  it 
were  passively  imbibed  from  books  or  teachers  ;  —  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  windings  of  a  road  make  a  more  last- 
ing impression  on  the  mind  when  we  have  once  travelled 

*  Seneca,  Epist.  VI.  "  Nor,  indeed,  would  any  tiling  give  me  pleasure, 
however  excellent  and  salutary  it  might  be,  were  I  to  keep  the  knowl- 
edge of  it  to  myself.  Were  wisdom  offered  me  under  such  restriction 
as  to  be  obliged"  to  conceal  it,  I  would  reject  it.  No  enjoyment  what- 
ever can  be  agreeable  without  participation." 

t  Analytically  we  discover,  by  a  sort  of  decomposition,  the  simple 
laws  which  are  concerned  in  the  phenomenon  under  consideration  ; 
synthetically,  taking  the  laws  for  granted,  we  determine  d,  priori  what 
the  result  will  be  of  any  hypothetical  combination  of  them.  —  ED. 


DESIRE    OF    SOCIETY.  19 

it  alone,  and  inquired  out  the  way  at  every  turn,  than  if 
we  had  travelled  along  it  a  hundred  times  trusting  our- 
selves implicitly  to  the  guidance  of  a  companion. 

I  am  happy  to  be  confirmed  in  this  opinion  by  its  coin- 
cidence with  what  has  been  excellently  remarked  on  the 
same  subject  by  Miss  Edgeworth,  in  her  treatise  on  Prac- 
tical Education  ;  a  work  equally  distinguished  by  good 
sense  and  by  originality  of  thought.  The  passage  I  allude 
to  more  particularly  at  present  is  the  short  dialogue  about 
the  steam-engine,  as  improved  by  Mr.  Watt.* 

SECTION  II. 

THE    DESIRE    OF    SOCIETY. 

I.  An  Instinctive  Principle.]  Abstracted  from  those 
affections  which  interest  us  in  the  happiness  of  others, 
and  from  all  the  advantages  which  we  ourselves  derive 
from  the  social  union,  we  are  led  by  a  natural  and  instinc- 
tive desire  to  associate  with  our  species.  This  principle 
is  easily  discernible  in  the  minds  of  children  long  before 
the  dawn  of  reason.  "  Attend  only,"  says  an  intelligent 
and  accurate  observer,  "to  the  eyes,  the  features,  and 
the  gestures  of  a  child  on  the  breast  when  another  child  is 
presented  toil;  —  both  instantly,  previous  to  the  possi- 
bility of  instruction  or  habit,  exhibit  the  mcst  evident  ex- 
pressions of  joy.  Their  eyes  sparkle,  and  their  features 
and  gestures  demonstrate,  in  the  most  unequivocal  manner, 
a  mutual  attachment.  When  further  advanced,  children 
who  are  strangers  to  each  other,  though  their  social  appe- 
tite be  equally  strong,  discover  a  mutual  shyness  of  ap- 
proach, which,  however,  is  soon  conquered  by,  the  more 
powerful  instinct  of  association."! 

In  the  lower  animals,  too,  very  evident  traces  of  the  same 
instinct  appear.  In  some  of  these  we  observe  a  species 
of  union  strikingly  analogous  to  political  associations  among 
men  :  in  others  we  observe  occasional  unions  among  indi- 
viduals to  accomplish  a  particular  purpose,  —  to  repel,  for 

*  Essays  on  Practical  Education,  Chap.  xxi. 

t  Smellie's  Philosophy  of  Natural  History,  Chap.  xi. 


20  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

example,  a  hostile  assault;  —  but  there  are  also  various 
tribes  which  discover  a  desire  of  society,  and  a  pleasure 
in  the  company  of  their  own  species,  without  an  apparent 
reference  to  any  further  end.  Thus  we  frequently  see 
horses,  when  confined  alone  in  an  inclosure,  neglect  their 
food  and  break  the  fences  to  join  their  companions  in  the 
contiguous  field.  Every  person  must  have  remarked  the 
•  spirit  and  alacrity  with  which  this  animal  exerts  himself  on 
the  road,  when  accompanied  by  another  animal  of  his  own 
species,  in  comparison  of  what  he  discovers  when  travel- 
ling alone ;  and,  with  respect  to  oxen  and  cows,  it  has 
been  asserted,  that  even  in  the  finest  pasture  they  do  not 
fatten  so  rapidly  in  a  solitary  state  as  when  they  feed  to- 
gether in  a  herd.* 

What  is  the  final  cause  of  the  associating  instinct  in 
such  animals  as  have  now  been  mentioned  it  is  not  easy 
to  conjecture,  unless  we  suppose  that  it  was  intended 
merely  to  augment  the  sum  of  their  enjoyments.  But 
whatever  opinion  we  may  form  on  this  point,  it  is  indis- 
putable that  the  instinctive  determination  is  a  strong  one, 
and  that  it  produces  striking  effects  on  the  habits  of  the 
animal,  even  when  external  circumstances  are  the  most 
unfavorable  to  its  operation.  Horses  and  oxen,  for  ex- 
ample, when  deprived  of  companions  of  their  own  species, 
associate  and  become  attached  to  each  other.  The  same 
thing  sometimes  happens  between  individuals  that  belong 
to  tribes  naturally  hostile ;  as  between  dogs  and  cats,  or 
between  a  cat  and  a  bird. 

If  these  facts  be  candidly  considered,  there  will  appear 
but  little  reason  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the  social  instinct 
in  our  own  species,  when  it  is  so  agreeable  to  the  general 
analogy  of  nature,  as  displayed  through  the  rest  of  the 
animal  creation.  As  this  point,  however,  has  been  con- 
troverted warmly  by  authors  of  eminence,  it  will  be  ne- 
cessary to  consider  it  with  some  attention. 

II.  The  Theory  of  Hobbes  stated  and  refuted.]  The 
question  with  respect  to  the  social  or  the  solitary  nature 

*  One  of  the  best  accounts  of  the  social  principle  in  animals  is  found 
in  Svvainson's  Habits  and  Instincts  of  Animals,  Chapters  IX.  and  X.  — 
ED. 


DESIRE    OF    SOCIETY.  21 

of  man  seems  to  me  to  amount  to  this,  whether  man  has 
any  disinterested  principles  which  lead  him  to  unite  with 
his  fellow-creatures  ;  or  whether  the  social  union  be  the 
result  of  prudential  views  of  self-interest,  suggested  by 
the  experience  of  his  own  insufficiency  to  procure  the 
objects  of  his  natural  desires.  Of  these  two  opinions, 
Hobbes  has  maintained  the  latter,  and  has  endeavoured  to 
establish  it  by  proving,  that,  ifi  what  he  calls  the  state  of 
nature,  every  man  is  an  enemy  to  his  brother,  and  that  it 
was  the  experience  of  the  evils  arising  from  these  hostile 
dispositions  that  induced  men  to  unite  in  a  political  society. 
In  proof  of  this  he  insists  on  the  terror  which  children 
feel  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger  ;  on  the  apprehension  which, 
he  says,  a  person  naturally  feels  when  he  hears  the  tread 
of  a  foot  in  the  dark  ;  on  the  universal  invention  of  locks 
and  keys  ;  and  on  various  other  circumstances  of  a  similar 
nature.* 

That  this  theory  of  Hobbes  is  contrary  to  the  universal 
history  of  mankind  cannot  be  disputed.  Man  has  always 
been  found  in  a  social  state  ;  and  there  is  reason  even  for 
thinking,  that  the  principles  of  union  which  nature  has  im- 
planted in  his  heart  operate  with  the  greatest  force  in 
those  situations  in  which  the  advantages  of  the  social  union 
are  the  smallest."  As  society  advances,  the  relations 
among  individuals  are  continually  multiplied,  and  man  is 
rendered  the  more  necessary  to  man  :  but  it  may  be 
doubted,  if,  in  a  period  of  great  rejinement,  the  social 
affections  be  as  warm  and  powerful  as  when  the  species 
were  wandering  in  the  forest. 

Besides,  it  does  not  seem  to  be  easy  to  conceive  in 
what  manner  Hobbes's  supposition  could  be  realized. 
Surely,  if  there  be  a  foundation  for  any  thing  laid  in  the 
constitution  of  man's  nature,  it  is  for  family  union.  The 
infant  of  our  species  continues  longer  in  a  helpless  state, 
and  requires  longer  the  protecting  care  of  both  parents, 
than  the  young  of  any  other  animal.  Before  the  first 
child  is  able  to  provide  for  itself,  a  second  and  a  third  are 
produced,  and  thus  the  union  of  the  sexes,  supposing  it  at 
first  to  have  been  merely  casual,  is  insensibly  confirmed 

*  Leviathan,  P.  I.  Chap.  xiii.     De  Corpore  Politico,  P.  I.  Chap.  i. 


22  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

by  habit,  and  cemented  by  the  common  interest  which 
both  parents  take  in  their  offspring.  So  just  is  the  simple 
and  beautiful  statement  of  the  fact  given  by  Montesquieu, 
that  "  man  is  born  in  society,  and  there  he  remains." 

From  these  considerations,  it  appears  that  the  social 
union  does  not  take  its  rise  from  views  of  self-interest,  but 
that  it  forms  a  necessary^  part  of  the  condition  of  man  from 
the  constitution  of  his  nafure.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 
before  he  begins  to  reflect  he  finds  himself  connected  with 
society  by  a  thousand  ties  ;  so  that,  independently  of  any 
social  instinct,  prudence  would  undoubtedly  prevent  him 
from  abandoning  his  fellow-creatures.  But  still  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  social  instinct  forms  a  part  of  human  nature, 
and  has  a  tendency  to  unite  men  even  when  they  stand  in 
no  need  of  each  other's  assistance.  Were  the  case  other- 
wise, prudence  and  the  social  disposition  would  be  only 
different  names  for  the  same  principle,  whereas  it  is  matter 
of  common  remark,  that  although  the  two  principles  be  by 
no  means  inconsistent  when  kept  within  reasonable  bounds, 
yet  that  the  former,  when  it  rises  to  any  excess,  is  in  a 
great  measure  exclusive  of  the  latter.  I  have  hinted,  too, 
already,  that  it  is  in  societies  where  individuals  are  most 
independent  of  each  other  as  to  their  animal  wants,  that 
the  social  principles  operate  with  the  greatest  force. 

III.  The  Wants  and  Necessities  of  Man  help  to  de- 
velop^ but  do  not  create,  his  Social  Principles.]  Accord- 
ing to  the  view  of  the  subject  now  given,  the  multiplied 
wants  and  necessities  of  man  in  his  infant  state,  by  laying 
the  foundation  of  the  family  union,  impose  upon  our 
species,  as  a  necessary  part  of.  their  condition,  those 
social  connections  which  are  so  essential  to  our  improve- 
ment and  happiness.  And  therefore  nothing  could  be 
more  unphilosophical  than  the  coniplaints  which  the  an- 
cient Epicureans  founded  upon  this  circumstance,  and 
which  Lucretius  has  so  pathetically  expressed  in  the  fol- 
lowing verses  :  — 

"  Turn  porro  puer,  ut  saevis  projectus  ab  undis 
Navita,  nudus  humi  jacet,  infans,  indigus  omni 
Vital!  auxilio,  cum  primum  in  luminis  oras 
Nixibus  ex  alvo  matris  natura  profudit: 


DESIRE    OF    SOCIETY.  23 

Vagituque  locum  lugubri  complet,  ut  sequum  est, 
Cui  tantum  in  vita  restat  transire  malorum."  * 

The  philosophy  of  Pope  is  in  this  respect  much  more 
pleasing  and  much  more  solid  :  — 

"  Heaven,  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend, 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all. 
Wants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 
The  common  interest,  or  endear  the  tie. 
To  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere, 
Each  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here."  t 

The  considerations  now  stated  afford  a  beautiful  illus- 
tration of  the  beneficent  design  with  which  the  physical 
condition  of  man  is  adapted  to  the  principles  of  his  moral 
constitution  ;  an  adaptation  so  striking,  that  it  is  not  sur- 
prising those  philosophers  who  are  fond  of  simplifying  the 
theory  of  human  nature  should  have  attempted  to  account 
for  the  origin  of  these  principles  from  the  habits  which  our 
external  circumstances  impose.  In  this,  as  in  many  other 
instances,  their  attention  has  been  misled  by  the  spirit  of 
system  from  those  wonderful  combinations  of  means  to 
particular  ends,  which  are  everywhere  conspicuous  in  the 
universe.  It  is  not  by  the  physical  condition  of  man  that 
the  essential  principles  of  his  mind  are  formed  ;  but  the 
one  is  fitted  to  the  other  by  the  same  superintending  wis- 
dom which  adapts  the  fin  of  the  fish  to  the  water,  and  the 
wing  of  the  bird  to  the  air,  and  which  scatters  the  seeds 
of  the  vegetable  tribes  in  those  soils  and  exposures  where 
they  are  fitted  to  vegetate.  It  is  not  the  wants  and  neces- 
sities of  his  animal  being  which  create  his  social  princi- 
ples, and  which  produce  an  artificial  and  interested  league 
among  individuals  who  are  naturally  solitary  and  hostile  ; 

*  Lib.  V.  223. 

"  As  when  wild,  wrecking  tempests  sweep  the  skies, 
Cast  on  the  shore  the  naked  sailor  lies ; 
So  the  weak  infant,  when  he  springs  to  light, 
Thrown  on  the  strand  of  life  in  helpless  plight, 
With  mournful  cries  the  joyful  mansion  fills, 
The  unheeded  omens  of  a  life  of  ills." 

t  Essay  on  Man,  Ep.  II.  249.     See  on  this  subject  The  Moralists  of 
Lord  Shaftesbury. 


24  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

but,  determined  by  instinct  to  society,  endowed  with  in- 
numerable principles  which  have  a  reference  to  his  fellow- 
creatures,  he  is  placed  by  the  condition  of  his  birth  in  that 
element  where  alone  the  perfection  and  happiness  of  his 
nature  are  to  be  found. 

IV.  .Mian's  Nature  adjusted  beforehand  to  the  Condi- 
tion in  which  he  is  placed.]  Jn  speaking  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals, I  before  observed,  that  such  of  them  as  are  instinc- 
tively social  discover  the  secret  workings  of  nature  even 
when  removed  from  the  society  of  their  kind.  This  fact 
amounts  in  their  case  to  a  demonstration  of  that  mutual 
adaptation  of  the  different  parts  of  nature  to  each  other 
which  I  have  just  remarked.  It  demonstrates  that  the 
structure  of.  their  internal  frame  is  purposely  adjusted  to 
that  external  scene  in  which  they  are  destined  to  be 
placed.  As  the  lamb,  when  it  strikes  with  its  forehead 
while  yet  unarmed,  proves  that  it  is  not  its  weapons  which 
determine  its  instincts,  but  that  it  has  preexistent  instincts 
suited  to  its  weapons,  so  when  we  see  an  animal  deprived 
of  the  sight  of  his  fellows  cling  to  a  stranger,  or  disarm, 
by  his  caresses,  the  rage  of  an  enemy,  we  perceive  the 
workings  of  a  social  instinct,  not  only  not  superinduced 
by  external  circumstances,  but  manifesting  itself  in  spite 
of  circumstances  which  are  adverse  to  its  operation.  The 
same  remark  may  be  extended  to  man.  When  in  soli- 
tude, he  languishes,  and,  by  making  companions  of  the 
lower  animals,  or  by  attaching  himself  to  inanimate  ob- 
jects, strives  to  fill  up  the  void  of  which  he  is  conscious. 
"  Were  I  in  a  desert,"  says  an  author,  who,  amidst  all 
his  extravagances  and  absurdities,  sometimes  writes  like  a 
wise  man,  and,  where  the  moral  feelings  are  at  all  con- 
cerned, never  fails  to  write  like  a  good  man,  —  "  were  I 
iu  a  desert,  I  would  find  out  wherewith  in  it  to  call  forth 
my  affections.  If  I  could  not  do  better,  I  would  fasten 
them  upon  some  sweet  myrtle,  or  seek  some  melancholy 
cypress  to  connect  myself  to  ;  I  would  court  their  shade, 
and  greet  them  kindly  for  their  protection.  I  would  cut 
my  name  upon  them,  and  swear  they  were  the  loveliest 
trees  throughout  the  desert.  If  their  leaves  withered,  I 
would  teach  myself  to  mourn,  and  when  they  rejoiced,  I 
would  rejoice  along  with  them." 


•  DESIRE    OF    SOCIETY.  25 

The  Count  de  Lauzun  was  confined  by  Louis  XIV. 
for  nine  years  in  the  castle  of  Pignerol,  in  a  small  room 
where  no  light  could  enter  but  from  a  chink  in  the  roof. 
In  this  solitude  he  attached  himself  to  a  spider,  and  con- 
trived for  some  time  to  amuse  himself  with  attempting  to 
tame  it,  with  catching  flies  for  its  support,  and  with  super- 
intending the  progress  of  its  web.  The  jailer  discovered 
his  amusement,  and  killed  the  spider  ;  and  the  Count  used 
afterwards  to  declare,  that  the  pang  he  felt  on  the  occa- 
sion could  be  compared  only  to  that  of  a  mother  for  the 
loss  of  a  child. 

This  anecdote  is  quoted  by  Lord  Kames  in  his 
Sketches,  and  by  the  late  Lord  Auckland  in  his  Princi- 
ples of  Penal  Law.  It  is  remarkable  that  both  these 
learned  and  respectable  writers  should  have  introduced  it 
into  their  works  on  account  of  the  shocking  incident  of 
the  jailer,  and  as  a  proof  of  the  pure  and  unprovoked 
malice  of  which  some  minds  are  capable,  without  taking 
any  notice  of  it  as  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  feelings  of  a 
man  of  sensibility  in  a  state  of  solitude,  and  of  his  dispo- 
sition to  create  to  himself  some  object  upon  which  he  may 
rest  those  affections  which  have  a  reference  to  socieiy. 

It  will  be  said  that  these  are  the  feelings  of  one  who 
has  experienced  the  pleasures  of  social  life,  and  that  no 
inference  can  be  drawn  from  such  facts  in  opposition  to 
Hobbes.  But  if  they  do  not  prove  in  man  an  instinctive 
impulse  towards  society  prior  to  experience,  they  at  least 
prove  that  he  feels  a  delight  in  the  society  of  his  fellow- 
creatures,  which  no  view  of  self-interest  is  sufficient  to 
explain. 

It  does  not  belong  to  our  present  speculation  to  illus- 
trate the  importance  of  the  social  union  to  our  improve- 
ment and  our  happiness.  Its  subserviency  to  both  (ab- 
stracted entirely  from  its  necessity  for  the  complete  grati- 
fication of  our  physical  wants)  is  much  greater  than  we 
should  be  disposed  at  first  to  apprehend.  In  proof  of 
this,  it  is  sufficient  to  mention  here  its  connection  with  the 
culture  of  our  intellectual  faculties,  and  with  the  develop- 
ment of  our  moral  principles.  Illustrations  of  this  may  be 
drawn  from  the  low  state  in  which  both  these  parts  of  our 
nature  are  generally  found  in  the  deaf  and  dumb,  and  from 
3 


26  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

the  effects  which  a  few  months'  education  sometimes  has 
in  unfolding  their  mental  powers.  The  pleasing  change 
which  in  the  mean  time  takes  place  in  their  once  vacant 
countenances,  when  animated  and  lighted  up  by  an  active 
and  inquisitive  mind,  cannot  escape  the  notice  of  the  most 
careless  observer.* 


SECTION   III. 

THE    DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM. 

I.  Jin  Original  Principle  of  our  JVafwre.]  This  prin- 
ciple, as  well  as  those  we  have  now  been  considering, 
discovers  itself  at  a  very  early  period  in  infants,  who, 
long  before  they  are  able  to  reflect  on  the  advantages  re- 
sulting from  the  good  opinion  of  others,  and  even  before 
they  acquire  the  use  of  speech,  are  sensibly  mortified  by 
any  expression  of  neglect  or  contempt.  It  seems,  there- 
fore, to  be  an  original  principle  of  our  nature  ;  that  is,  it 
does  not  appear  to  be  resolvable  into  reason  and  experi- 
ence, or  into  any  other  principle  more  general  than  itself. 
An  additional  proof  of  this  is  the  very  powerful  influence 

*  For  an  additional  illustration  of  the  same  thing,  see  a  remarkable 
case  of  recovery  from  deafness  and  dumbness  in  the  history  of  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  at  Paris  for  the  year  1703. 

A  doctrine  similar  to  that  which  I  have  now  been  controverting,  con- 
cerning the«origin  of  society,  was  maintained  by  some  of  the  ancient 
sophists,  and  has  found  advocates  in  every  age  among  those  writers 
who  wished  to  depreciate  human  nature,  as  well  as  among  many  who 
were  anxious  to  represent  man  as  entirely  the  creature  of  education  and 
government,  with  the  view  of  inculcating  implicit  and  passive  obedi- 
ence to  the  civil  magistrate.  In  Buchanan's  elegant  and  philosophical 
Dialogue  De  Jure  Keoni  apud  Scotos,  the  question  is  particularly  dis- 
cussed between  the  two  interlocutors,  one  of  whom  ascribes  the  origin 
of  society  to  views  of  utility,  meaning  by  utility  the  private  interest  or 
advantage  of  the  individual.  On  the  contrary,  Buchanan  himself,  who 
is  the  other  speaker,  contends  with  great  warmth  for  the  existence  of 
social  principles  in  the  nature  of  man,  which,  independently  of  any 
views  of  interest,  lay  a  foundation  for  the  social  union. 

Part  of  this  Dialogue  is  curious,  as  it  shows  how  completely  Bu- 
chanan had  not  only  anticipated,  but  refuted,  the  very  far-fetched  argu- 
ment which  Hobbes  was  soon  after  to  draw  from  his  supposed  state  of 
nature  in  support  of  his  slavish  maxims  of  government. 

[See  the  subject  of  man's  natural  sociality  still  further  illustrated, 
in  connection  with  experiments  in  prison  discipline.  De  Beaumont 
and  De  Tocqueville's  Penitentiary  System  of  the  United  States.  F.  C. 
Gray's  Prison  Discipline  of  America, 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  27 

it  has  over  the  mind,  — an  influence  more  striking  than 
that  of  any  other  active  principle  whatsoever.  Even  the 
love  of  life  daily  gives  way  to  the  desire  of  esteem,  and  of 
an  esteem  which,  as  it  is  only  to  affect  our  memories,  can- 
not be  supposed  to  interest  our  self-love.  In  what  man- 
ner the  association  of  ideas  should  manufacture,  out  of 
the  other  principles  of  our  constitution,  a  new  principle 
stronger  than  them  all,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive. 

In  these  observations  I  have  had  an  eye  to  the  theories 
of  those  modern  philosophers  who  represent  self-love,  or 
the  desire  of  happiness,  as  the  only  original  principle  of 
action  in  man,  and  who  attempt  to  account  for  the  origin 
of  all  our  other  active.principles  from  habit  or  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas.  That  this  theory  is  just  in  some  instances 
cannot  be  disputed.  Thus,  in  the  case  of  avarice,  it  is 
manifest  that  it  is  from  habit  alone  it  derives  its  influence 
over  the  mind  ;  for  no  man  surely  was  ever  brought  into 
the  world  with  an  innate  love  of  money.  Money  is  at  first 
desired,  merely  as  the  means  of  obtaining  other  objects  ; 
but,  in  consequence  of  being  long  and  constantly  accustom- 
ed to  direct  our  efforts  to  its  attainment  on  account  of  its 
apprehended  utility,  we  come  at  last  to  pursue  it  as  an 
ultimate  end,  and  frequently  retain  our  attachment  to  it 
long  after  we  have  lost  all  relish  for  the  enjoyments  it  en- 
ables us  to  command.  In  like  manner,  it  has  been  sup- 
posed that  the  esteem  of  our  fellow-creatures  is  at  first 
desired  on  account  of  its  apprehended  utility,  and  that  it 
comes  in  time  to  be  pursued  as  an  ultimate  end,  without 
any  reference  on  our  part  to  the  advantages  it  bestows. 
In  opposition  to  this  doctrine  it  seems  to  me  to  be  clear, 
that  as  the  object  of  hunger  is  not  happiness,  but  food  ;  as 
the  object  of  curiosity  is  not  happiness,  but  knowledge  ;  so 
the  object  of  this  principle  of  action  is  not  happiness,  but 
the  esteem  and  respect  of  other  men.  That  this  is  not 
inconsistent  with  the  analogy  of  our  nature  appears  from 
the  observations  already  made  on  our  appetites  and  de- 
sires ;  and  that  it  really  is  the  fact  may  be  proved  by 
various  arguments.  Before  touching,  however,  on  these, 
I  must  remark,  that  I  consider  this  as  merely  a  question 
of  speculative  curiosity  ;  for,  upon  either  supposition,  the 
desire  of  esteem  is  equally  the  work  of  nature  ;  and  con- 


28  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

sequently,  upon  either  supposition,  it  is  equally  unphilo- 
sophical  to  attempt,  by  metaphysical  subtilties,  to  counter- 
act her  wise  and  beneficent  purposes. 

Among  the  different  arguments  which  concur  to  prove 
that  the  desire  of  esteem  is  not  wholly  resolvable  into  the 
association  of  ideas,  one  of  the  strongest  has  already  been 
hinted  at,  —  the  early  period  of  life  at  which  this  principle 
discovers  itself,  —  long  before  we  are  able  to  form  the  idea 
of  happiness,  far  less  to  judge  of  the  circumstances  which 
have  a  tendency  to  promote  it.  The  difference  in  this 
respect  between  avarice  and  the  desire  of  esteem  is  re- 
markable. The  former  is  the  vice  of  old  age,  and  is, 
comparatively  speaking,  confined  to.  a  few.  The  latter  is 
one  of  the  most  powerful  engines  in  the  education  of 
children,  and  is  not  less  universal  in  its  influence  than  the 
principle  of  curiosity. 

II.  The  Desire  of  Posthumous  Fame  represented  by 
Wollaston  as  Illusory.]  The  desire,  too,  of  posthu- 
mous fame,  of  which  no  man  can  entirely  divest  himself, 
furnishes  an  insurmountable  objection  to  the  theories  al- 
ready mentioned.  It  is,  indeed,  an  objection  so  obvious 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  that  all  the  philosophers 
who  have  leaned  to  these  theories  have  employed  their 
ingenuity  in  attempting  to  resolve  this  desire  into  an  illu- 
sion of  the  imagination  produced  by  habit.  This,  too, 
was  the  opinion  of  an  excellent  writer,  and  still  more  ex- 
cellent man,  Mr.  Wollaston,  who,  from  a  well-meant,  but 
very  mistaken,  zeal  to  weaken  the  influence  of  this  princi- 
ple of  action  on  human  conduct,  has  been  at  pains  to  give 
as  ludicrous  an  account  as  possible  of  its  origin.  As  1 
differ  widely  from  Wollaston  on  this  point,  both  in  his 
theoretical  speculations  and  in  the  practical  inferences  he 
deduces  from  them,  I  shall  quote  the  passage  at  length, 
and  then  subjoin  a  few  remarks  on  it. 

"  Men  please  themselves  with  notions  of  immortality, 
and  fancy  a  perpetuity  of  fame  secured  to  themselves  by 
books  and  testimonies  of  historians  ;  but  alas  !  it  is  a 
stupid  delusion  when  they  imagine  themselves  present  and 
enjoying  that  fame  at  the  reading  of  their  story  after  their 
death.  And  beside,  in  reality,  the  man  is  not  known  ever 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  29 

the  more  to  posterity,  because  his  name  is  transmitted  to 
them.  He  doth  not  live,  because  his  name  does.  When 
it  is  said,  '  Julius  Caesar  subdued  Gaul,  beat  Pompey, 
and  changed  the  Roman  commonwealth  into  a  monarchy,' 
it  is  the  same  thing  as  to  say,  ;  The  conqueror  of  Pompey 
was  Caesar';  that  is,  Caesar  and  the  conqueror  of  Pompey 
are  the  same  thing,  and  Caesar  is  as  much  known  by  the 
one  designation  as  by  the  other.  The  amount,  then,  is  only 
this,  that  the  conqueror  of  Pompey  conquered  Pompey, 
or  somebody  conquered  Pompey  ;  or  rather,  since  Pom- 
pey is  now  as  little  known  as  Caesar,  somebody  conquered 
somebody.  Such  a  poor  business  is  this  boasted  immor- 
tality ;  and  such  as  has  been  described  is  the  thing  called 
glory  among  us  !  The  notion  of  it  may  serve  to  excite 
them  who,  having  abilities  to  serve  their  country  in  time  of 
real  danger  or  want,  or  to  do  some  other  good,  have  yet 
not  philosophy  enough  to  do  this  upon  principles  of  virtue, 
or  to  see  through  the  glories  of  the  world  (just  as  we  ex- 
cite children  by  praising  them,  and  as  we  see  many  good 
inventions  and  improvements  proceed  from  emulation  and 
vanity) ;  but  to  discerning  men  this  fame  is  mere  air,  and 
the  next  remove  from  nothing,  which  they  despise,  if  not 
shun.  I  think  there  are  two  considerations  which  may 
justify  a  desire  of  some  glory  or  honor,  and  scarce  more. 
When  men  have  performed  any  virtuous  actions,  or  such 
as  sit  easy  on  their  memories,  it  is  a  reasonable  pleasure 
to  have  the  testimony  of  the  world  added  to  that  of  their 
own  consciences,  that  they  have  done  well.  And  more 
than  that,  if  the  reputation  acquired  by  any  qualification 
or  action  may  produce  a  man  any  real  comfort  or  ad- 
vantage (if  it  be  only  protection  from  the  insolence  and 
injustice  of  mankind,  or  if  it  enables  him,  by  his  authority, 
to  do  more  good  to  others),  to  have  this  privilege  must  be  a 
great  satisfaction,  and  what  a  wise  and  good  man  may  be  al- 
lowed, as  he  has  opportunity,  to  propose  to  himself.  But 
then  he  proposes  it  no  further  than  it  may  be  useful,  and  it 
can  be  no  further  useful  than  he  wants  it.  So  that,  upon 
the  whole,  glory,  praise,  and  the  like,  are  either  mere  van- 
ity, or  only  valuable  in  proportion  to  defects  and  wants."  * 

*  Wollaston's   Religion  of  Jfnture  Delineated,    Sect    V.  §    xix.      A 

3* 


30  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

It  appears  from  this  passage,  that  Wollaston  does  not 
consider  the  desire  of  posthumous  fame  as  an  ultimate  fact 
in  our  nature,  for  he  proposes  a  theory  to  account  for  it. 

thought  substantially  the  same  with  that  of  Wollaston  occurs  in  Cow- 
ley's  ode  entitled  Life  and  Fame. 

"  Great  Caesar's  self  a  higher  place  does  claim 
In  the  seraphic  entity  of  fame. 

He,  since  that  toy,   his  death, 

Doth  fill  each  mouth  and  breath. 
'T  is  true,  the  two  immortal  syllables  remain  ; 
But,  O  ye  learned  men,  explain, 
What  essence — -substance  —  what  hypostasis 

In  five  poor  letters  is? 
In   those  alone  does  the  great  Caesar  live. 
.     'T  is  all  the  conquered  world  could  give.'' 

Notwithstanding  the  merit  of  these  lines,  I  should  hardly  have 
thought  it  worth  while  to  quote  them,  if  Dr.  Hurd  (a  critic  of  no  com- 
mon ingenuity  as  well  as  learning)  had  not  shown,  by  his  comment 
upon  them,  how  completely  he  had  misapprehended  the  reasoning  both 
of  the  poet  and  of  the  philosopher.  He  remarks  :  — 

14  This  lively  ridicule  on  posthumous  fame  is  well  enough  placed  in 
a  poem  or  declamation  ;  but  we  are  a  little  surprised  to  find  so  grave  a 
writer  as  Wollaston  diverting  himself  with  it.  '  In  reality,'  says  he, 
'  the  man  is  not  known  ever  the  more  to  posterity  because  his  name 
is  transmitted  to  them.  He  does  not  live,  because  his  name  does.' 
When  it  is  said,  'Julius  C;i-sar  subdued  Gaul,'  &c.,  &c.,  the  sophistry 
is  apparent.  Put  Cato  in  the  place  of  Caesar,  and  then  see  whether  that 
great  man  do  not  lire  in  his  name  substantially,  that  is,  to  good  purpose, 
if  the  impression  which  these  two  immortal  syllables  make  on  the  mind 
be  of  use  'in  exciting  posterity,  or  any  one  man,  to  the  love  and  imita- 
tion of  Cato's  virtue."  —  Hur'd  s  Cowley,  Vol  I.  p.  179. 

In  this  remark,  Hurd  plainly  proceeds  on  the  supposition,  that  Wol- 
laston's  sophistry  is  directed  against  the  utility  of  the  love  of  posthumous 
glory,  whereas  the  only  point  in  dispute  relates  to  the  origin  of  this 
principle,  which  Wollaslon  seems  to  have  thought,  if  it  could  not  be 
resolved  into  the  rational  motive  of  self-love,  must  be  the  illegitimate 
and  contemptible  offspring  of  our  own  stupidity  and  folly. 

How  very  different  must  Cowley's  feelings  have  been  when  he  wrote 
the  metaphysical  ode  referred  to  by  Hurd,  from  those  which  inspired 
that  first  burst  of  juvenile  emotion  which  forms  the  exordium  to  his 
Poetical  Works ! 

"  What  shall  I  do  to  be  for  ever  known, 
And  make  the  age  to  come  my  own  ? 
I  shall,  like  beasts  or  common  people,  die, 
Unless  you  write  my  elegy. 

What  sound  is  't  strikes  mine  ear  ? 
Sure  I  fame's  trumpet  hear. 
It  sounds  like  the  last  trumpet,  for  it  can 
Raise  up  the  buried  man." 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  31 

• 

"  It  is,"  says  he,  "  a  stupid  delusion,  when  men  imagine 
themselves  present  and  enjoying  that  fame  at  the  read- 
ing of  their  story  after  death."  Mr.  Smith,  too,  in  his 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  seems  to  think  that  the 
desire  of  a  posthumous  fame  is  to  be  resolvable  into  an 
illusion  of  the  imagination.  "Men,"  says  he,  "have 
often  voluntarily  thrown  away  life  to  acquire  after  death  a 
renown  which  they  could  no  longer  enjoy.  Their  imagi- 
nation, in  the  mean  time,  anticipated  that  fame  which  was 
thereafter  to  be  bestowed  upon  them.  Those  applauses 
which  they  were  never  to  hear  rung  in  their  ears  ;  the 
thoughts  of  that  admiration  whose  effects  they  were  never 
to  feel  played  about  their  hearts,  banished  from  their 
breasts  the  strongest  of  all  natural  fears,  and  transported 
them  to  perform  actions  which  seem  almost  beyond  the 
reach  of  human  nature."*  But  why  have  recourse  to 
an  illusion  of  the  imagination  to  account  for  a  principle 
which  the  wisest  of  men  find  it  impossible  to  extinguish  in 
themselves,  or  even  sensibly  to  weaken  ;  and  none  more 
remarkably  than  some  of  those  who  have  employed  their 
ingenuity  in  attempting  to  turn  it  into  ridicule  ?  Is  it 
possible  that  men  should  imagine  themselves  present  and 
enjoying  their  fame  at  the  reading  of  their  story  after 
death,  without  being  conscious  of  this  operation  of  the 
imagination  themselves  ?  Is  not  this  to  depart  from  the 
plain  and  obvious  appearance  of  the  fact,  and  to  adopt 
refinements  similar  to  those  by  which  the  selfish  philoso- 
phers explain  away  all  our  disinterested  affections  ?  We 
might  as  well  suppose  that  a  man's  regard  for  the  welfare 
of  his  posterity  and  friends  after  his  death  does  not  arise 
from  natural  affection,  but  from  an  illusion  of  the  imagina- 
tion, leading  him  to  suppose  himself  still  present  with 
them,  and  a  witness  of  their  prosperity,  f  If  we  have 

*  Part  III.  Chap.  ii. 

t  The  two  cases  seem  to  be  so  exactly  parallel,  that  it  is  somewhat 
surprising  that  no  attempt  should  have  been  made  to  extend  to  the 
latter  principle  of  action  the  same  ridicule  which  has  been  so  lavishly 
bestowed  on  the  former.  So  far,  however,  from  this  being  the  case,  I 
believe  it  will  be  universally  granted,  that  where  the  latter  principle 
fails  in  producing  its  natural  and  ordinary  effect  on  the  conduct,  there 
must  exist  some  defect  in  the  rational  or  moral  character,  for  which  no 
other  good  qualities  can  sufficiently  atone.  "  He  that  careth  not  for 


32  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

confessedly  various  other  propensities  directed  to  specific 
objects  as  ultimate  ends,  where  is  the  difficulty  of  con- 
ceiving that  a  desire,  directed  to  the  good  opinion  of  our 
fellow-creatures  (without  any  reference  to  the  advantages 
it  is  to  yield  us  either  now  or  hereafter),  may  be  among 
the  number  ? 

III.  Vindication  of  this  Principle."]  It  would  not,  in- 
deed, (as  I  have  already  hinted,)  materially  affect  the  argu- 
ment, although  we  should  suppose,  with  Wollaston,  that 
the  desire  of  posthumous  fame  was  resolvable  into  an 
illusion  of  the  imagination.  For,  whatever  be  its  origin, 
it  was  plainly  the  intention  of  nature  that  all  men  should 
be  in  some  measure  under  its  influence  ;  and  it  is  perhaps 
of  little  consequence  whether  we  regard  it  as  a  principle 
originally  implanted  by  nature,  or  suppose  that  she  has  laid 
a  foundation  for  it  in  other  principles  which  belong  univer- 
sally to  the  species. 

How  very  powerfully  it  operates  appears,  not  only 
from  the  heroical  sacrifices  to  which  it  has  led  in  every 
age  of  the  world,  but  from  the  conduct  of  the  meanest  and 
most  worthless  of  mankind,  who,  when  they  are  brought 
to  the  scaffold  in  consequence  of  the  clearest  and  most 
decisive  evidence  of  their  guilt,  frequently  persevere  to 
the  last,  with  the  terrors  of  futurity  full  in  their  view,  in 
the  most  solemn  protestations  of  their  innocence  ;  and 
that  merely  in  the  hope  of  leaving  behind  them,  not  a  fair, 
but  an  equivocal  or  problematical  reputation. 

With  respect  to  the  other  parts  of  Wollaston's  reason- 
ing, that  it  is  only  the  letters  which  compose  our  names 
that  we  can  transmit  to  posterity,  it  is  worthy  of  observa- 
tion, that,  if  the  argument  be  good  for  any  thing,  it  applies 
equally  against  the  desire  of  esteem  from  our  contempo- 
raries, excepting  in  those  cases  in  which  we  ourselves  are 

his  own  house  is  worse  than  an  infidel."  But  if  this  be  acknowledged 
with  respect  to  the  interest  we  take  in  the  concerns  of  our  connections 
after  our  own  disappearance  from  the  present  scene,  why  judge  so 
harshly  of  the  desire  of  posthumous  fame  ?  Do  not  the  two  principles 
often  cooperate  in  stimulating  our  active  exertions  to  the  very  same 
ends,  more  especially  in  those  cases  (alas  !  too  common)  where  the 
inheritance  of  a  respectable  name  is  all  that  a  good  man  has  it  in  his 
power  to  bequeathe  to  his  family  ? 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  33 

personally  known  by  those  whose  praise  we  covet,  and  of 
whose  applause  we  happen  ourselves  to  be  ear-witnesses. 
And  yet,  undoubtedly,  according  to  the  common  judg- 
ment of  mankind,  the  love  of  praise  is  more  peculiarly  the 
mark  of  a  liberal  and  elevated  spirit  in  cases  where  the 
gratification  it  seeks  has  nothing  to  recommend  it  to  those 
whose  ruling  passions  are  interest  or  the  love  of  flattery.* 
It  is  precisely  for  the  same  reason  that  the  love  of  posthu- 
mous fame  is  strongest  in  the  noblest  and  most  exalted 
characters.  If  self-love  were  really  the  sole  motive  in  all 
our  actions,  Wollaston's  reasoning  would  prove  clearly 
the  absurdity  of  any  concern  about  our  memory.  Such  a 
concern,  as  Dr.  Hutcheson  observes,  "  no  selfish  being, 
who  had  the  modelling  of  his  own  nature,  would  choose  to 
implant  in  himself.  But,  since  we  have  not  this  power, 
we  must  be  contented  to  be  thus  outwitted  by  nature  into 
a  public  interest  against  our  will."  f 

As  to  the  fact  on  which  Wollaston's  argument  proceeds, 
is  it  not  more  philosophical  to  consider  it  as  affording  an 
additional  stimulus  to  the  instinctive  love  of  posthumous 
fame,  by  holding  it  up  to  the  imagination  as  the  noblest 
and  proudest  boast  of  human  ambition,  to  be  able  to  entail 
on  the  casual  combination  of  letters  which  ^compose  our 
name  the  respect  of  distant  ages,  and  the  blessings  of 
generations  yet  unborn  ?  Nor  is  it  an  unworthy  object  of 
the  most  rational  benevolence  to  render  these  letters  a 
sort  of  magical  spell  for  kindling  the  emulation  of  the  wise 
and  good  wherever  they  shall  reach  the  human  ear. 

Nor  is  it  only  in  this  instance  that  nature  has  "  thus 
outwitted  us  "  for  her  own  wise  and  salutary  purposes. 

*  That  the  desire  of  esteem,  if  a  fantastic  principle  of  action  in  the 
one  of  these  cases,  is  equally  so  in  the  other,  is  remarked  by  Pope;  but, 
instead  of  availing  himself  of  this  consideration  to  justify  the  desire  of 
posthumous  renown,  he  employs  it  as  an  argument  to  expose  the  noth- 
ingness of  fame  in  all  cases  whatsoever. 

"  What  's  fame?  a  fancied  life  in  others'  breath, 
A  thing  beyond  us  even  before  our  death. 
All  that  we  feel  of  it  begins  and  ends 
In  the  small  circle  of  our  foes  and  friends; 
To  all  beside  as  much  an  empty  shade 
An  Eugene  living,  as  a  Caesar  dead." 

Essay  on  Man,  Epistle  IV.  ${37. 
t  Nature  and  Conduct  of  the  Passions,  Sect   I.  Art.  IV. 


34  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

By  a  mode  of  reasoning  analogous  to  that  of  Wollaston, 
it  would  be  easy  to  turn  mos^-if  not  all,  our  active  princi- 
ples into  ridicule.  But  what  should  we  gain  by  the 
attempt,  but  a  ludicrous  exposition  of  that  moral  consti- 
tution which  it  has  pleased  our  Maker  to  give  us,  and 
which,  the  more  we  study  it,  will  be  found  to  abound  the 
more  with  marks  of  wise  and  beneficent  design  ? 

It  is  fortunate,  in  such  cases,  that,  although  the  reason- 
ings of  the  metaphysician  may  puzzle  the  understanding, 
they  produce  very  little  effect  on  the  conduct.  He  may 
tell  us,  for  example,  that  the  admiration  of  female  beauty 
is  absurd,  because  beauty,  as  well  as  color,  is  a  quality 
not  existing  in  the  object,  but  in  the  mind  of  the  spec- 
tator ;  or  (which  brings  the  case  still  nearer  to  that  under 
our  consideration)  he  may  allege  that  the  whole  charm  of 
the  finest  countenance  would  vanish  if  it  were  examined 
with  the  aid  of  a  microscope.  In  all  such  cases,  as  well 
as  in  the  instance  referred  to  by  Wollaston,  we  are  deter- 
mined very  powerfully  by  nature  ;  in  a  way,  indeed,  that 
our  reason  cannot  explain,  but  which  we  never  fail  to  find 
subservient  to  valuable  ends.  For  I  am  far  from  thinking 
that  it  would  be  of  advantage  to  mankind  if  Wollaston's 
views  were  generally  adopted.  That  the  love  of  glory 
has  sometimes  covered  the  earth  with  desolation  and 
bloodshed  I  am  ready  to  grant  ;  but  the  actions  to  which 
it  generally  prompts  are  highly  serviceable  to  the  world. 
Indeed,  it  is  only  by  such  actions  that  an  enviable  fame  is 
to  be  acquired. 

A  strong  conviction  of  this  truth  has  led  Dr.  Akenside 
to  express  himself  in  one  of  his  odes  with  a  warmth  which 
passes,  perhaps,  the  bounds  of  strict  propriety,  but  for 
which  a  sufficient  apology  may  be  found  in  the  poetical 
enthusiasm  by  which  it  was  inspired.  The  ode  is  said 
to  have  been  occasioned  by  a  sermon  against  the  love 
of  glory. 

"  Come,  .then,  tell  me,  sage  divine, 

Is  it  an  offence  to  own 

That  our  bosoms  e'er  incline 

Towards  immortal  glory's  throne? 

For  with  me  nor  pomp  nor  pleasure, 

Bourbon's  might,  Braganza's  treasure, 

So  can  fancy's  dream  rejoice, 

So  conciliate  reason's  choice, 
As  one  approving  word  of  her  impartial  voice. 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  35 

"  If  to  spurn  at  noble  praise 
Be  the  passport  to  thy  heaven, 
Follow  thou  these  gloomy  ways; 
No  such  law  to  me  was  given : 
,  Nor,  I  trust,  shall  I  deplore  me 
Faring  like  my  friends  before  me, 
Nor  a  holier  heaven  desire 
Than  Timoleon's  arms  acquire, 
And  Tully's  curule  chair,  and  Milton's  golden  lyre." 

Having  mentioned  the  name  of  Milton,  I  cannot  forbear 
to  add,  that  he  loo  has  called  the  love  of  fame  an  infirmity, 
although  he  has  qualified  this  implied  censure  by  calling  it 
the  "infirmity  of  a  noble  mind."  He  has  distinctly 
acknowledged,  at  the  same  time,  the  heroic  sacrifices  of 
ease  and  pleasure  to  which  it  has  prompted  the  most  dis- 
tinguished benefactors  of  the  human  race. 

"  Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(The  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds) 
To  scorn  delights  and    live  laborious  days." 

IV.  Hume's  Theory  respecting  its  Origin.']  I  must 
not  dismiss  this  subject  without  taking  some  notice  of  a 
theory  started  by  Mr.  Hume  with  respect  to  the  origin  of 
the  love  of  praise  ;  a  theory  which  applies  to  this  passion 
even  when  it  has  for  its  object  the  praise  of  our  contempo- 
raries. "Of  all  opinions,"  he  observes,  "those  which 
we  form  in  our  own  favor,  however  lofty  and  presuming, 
are  at  bottom  the  frailest,  and  the  most  easily  shaken  by 
the  contradiction  and  opposition  of  others.  Our  great 
concern  in  this  case  makes  us  soon  alarmed,  and  keeps 
our  passions  upon  the  watch  ;  our  consciousness  of  par- 
tiality still  makes  us  dread  a  mistake  ;  and  the  very  dif- 
ficulty of  judging  concerning  an  object  which  is  never  set 
at  a  due  distance  from  us,  nor  is  seen  in  a  proper  point  of 
view,  makes  us  hearken  anxiously  to  the  opinion  of  others 
who  are  better  qualified  to  form  opinions  concerning  us. 
Hence  that  strong  love  of  fame  with  which  all  mankind  are 
possessed.  It  is  in  order  to  fix  and  confirm  their  favora- 
ble opinion  of  themselves,  not  from  any  original  passion, 
that  they  seek  the  applause  of  others."  * 

I  think  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  circumstance  here 

*  Dissertation  on  the  Passions,  Sect.  II.  §   10. 


36  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

mentioned  by  Mr.  Hume  adds  greatly  to  the  pleasure  we 
derive  from  the  possession  of  esteem  ;  but  it  sufficiently 
appears  from  the  facts  already  _stated,  particularly  from  the 
early  period  of  life  at  which  this  principle  makes  its  ap- 
pearance, that  there  is  a  satisfaction  arising  from  the  pos- 
session of  esteem  perfectly  unconnected  with  the  cause 
referred  to  by  this  author.  Mr.  Hume  has  therefore  mis- 
taken a  concomitant  effect  for  the  cause  of  the  phenomenon 
in  question. 

In  remarking,  however,  this  concomitant  effect,  he 
must  be  allowed  to  have  called  our  attention  to  a  fact  of 
some  importance  in  the  philosophy  of  the  human  mind, 
and  which  ought  not  to  be  overlooked  in  analyzing  the 
compounded  sentiment  of  satisfaction  we  derive  from  the 
good  opinion  of  others.  Nor  is  this  the  only  accessory 
circumstance  that  enhances  the  pleasure  resulting  from  the 
gratification  of  the  original  principle.  If  in  those  cases 
where  we  are  somewhat  doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  our 
own  conduct  we  are  anxious  to  have  in  our  favor  the 
sanction  of  public  opinion,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  when 
we  are  satisfied  in  our  own  minds  that  our  conduct  has 
been  right,  part  of  the  pleasure  we  receive  from  esteem 
arises  from  observing  the  just  views  and  candid  disposi- 
tions of  others.  Nor  is  it  less  indisputable,  on  the  con- 
trary supposition,  that  when,  in  consequence  of  calumny 
and  misrepresentation,  we  fail  in  obtaining  that  esteem  to 
which  we  know  ourselves  to  be  entitled,  our  disappointment 
at  missing  our  just  reward  is  aggravated,  to  a  wonderful 
degree,  by  our  sorrow  for  the  injustice  and  ingratitude  of 
mankind.  Still,  however,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
these  are  only  accessory  circumstances,  and  that  there  is 
a  pleasure  resulting  from  the  possession  of  esteem  which 
is  not  resolvable  into  either  of  them,  and  which  appears  to 
be  an  ultimate  fact  in  the  constitution  of  our  nature. 

V.  Incidental  Benefits  resulting  from  the  Love  of 
Fame.~\  From  the  passage  formerly  quoted  from  Wol- 
laston  it  appears  that  he  apprehended  the  love  of  fame  to 
be  justifiable  only  in  two  cases.  The  one  is,  when  we 
desire  it  as  a  confirmation  of  the  rectitude  of  our  own 
judgments  ;  the  other,  when  the  possession  of  it  can  be 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  37 

attended  with  some  real  and  solid  good.  But  why,  I  must 
again  repeat,  offer  any  apology  for  our  obeying  a  natural 
principle  of  our  constitution,  so  long  as  we  preserve  it 
under  due  regulation  ? 

It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark,  that  this  principle  is  one 
of  those  with  which  our  fellow-creatures  are  most  dis- 
posed to  sympathize.  With  what  indignation  do  we  hear 
the  slightest  reflection  cast  on  the  memory  of  one  who 
was  dear  to  us,  and  how  sacred  do  we  feel  the  duty  of 
coming  forward  in  his  defence  !  Nor  is  this  sympathy 
confined  to  the  circle  of  our  acquaintance.  It  embraces 
the  wise  and  good  of  the  most  remote  ages,  and  prompts 
us  irresistibly  to  protect  their  fame  from  the  assaults  of 
envy  and  detraction.  Whatever  theory  philosophers  may 
adopt  as  to  the  origin  of  this  sympathy,  its  utility  in 
preserving  immaculate  the  reputation  of  those  ornaments 
of  humanity  whom  mankind  look  up  to  as  models  for 
imitation  is  equally  indisputable. 

I  have  already  said  that  the  desire  of  esteem  is,  on  the 
whole,  a  useful  principle  of  action  ;  for,  although  there 
are  many  cases  in  which  the  public  opinion  is  erroneous 
and  corrupted,  there  are  many  more  in  which  it  is  agreea- 
ble to  reason,  and  favorable  to  the  interests  of  virtue  and 
of  mankind.  The  habits,  therefore,  which  this  principle 
of  action  has  a  tendency  to  form  are  likely,  in  most 
instances,  to  coincide  with  those  which  are  recommended 
by  a  sense  of  duty.  In  many  men,  accordingly,  who  are 
very  little  influenced  by  higher  principles,  a  regard  to  the 
opinion  of  the  world  (or,  as  we  commonly  express  it,  a 
regard  to  character)  produces  a  conduct  honorable  to 
themselves  and  beneficial  to  society. 

To  this  observation  it  may  be  added,  that  the  habits  to 
which  we  are  trained  by  the  desire  of  esteem  render  the 
acquisition  of  virtuous  habits  more  easy.  The  desire  of 
esteem  operates  in  children  before  they  have  a  capacity  to 
distinguish  right  from  wrong  ;  or  at  least  the  former  prin- 
ciple of  action  is  much  more  powerful  in  their  case  than 
the  latter.  Hence  it  furnishes  a  most  useful  and  effectual 
engine  in  the  business  of  education,  more  particularly  by 
training  us  early  to  exertions  of  self-command  and  self- 
denial.  It  teaches  us,  for  example,  to  restrain  our  appe- 
4 


38  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

tites  within  those  bounds  which  decency  prescribes,  and 
thus  forms  us  to  habits  of  moderation  and  temperance. 
And  although  our  conduct  cannot  be  denominated  virtuous 
so  long  as  a  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others  is  our  only 
motive,  yet  the  habits  we  thus  acquire  in  infancy  and  child- 
hood render  it  more  easy  for  us  to  subject  our  passions  to 
the  authority  of  reason  and  conscience  as  we  advance  to 
maturity.  "  In  that  young  man,"  said  Sylla,  speaking  of 
Ca?sar,  "  who  walks  the  streets  with  so  little  regard  to 
modesty,  I  foresee  many  Mariuses."  His  idea  probably 
was,  that  on  a  temper  so  completely  divested  of  sympathy 
with  the  feelings  of  others  society  could  lay  little  hold, 
and  that  whatever  principle  of  action  should  happen  to 
gain  the  ascendant  in  his  mind  was  likely  to  sacrifice  to  its 
own  gratification  the  restraints  both  of  honor  and  of  duty. 

VI.  Mam  Smith  confounds  Desire  of  Esteem  with  the 
Moral  JWotive.~\  These,  and  some  other  considerations 
of  the  same  kind,  have  struck  Mr.  Smith  so  forcibly,  that 
he  has  been  led  to  resolve  our  sense  of  duty  into  a  regard 
to  the  good  opinion,  and  a  desire  to  obtain  the  sympathy, 
of  our  fellow-creatures.  I  shall  afterwards  have  occasion 
to  examine  the  principal  arguments  he  alleges  in  support 
of  his  conclusions.  At  present  I  shall  only  remark,  that, 
although  his  theory  may  account  for  the  desire  which  all 
men,  both  good  and  bad,  have  to  assume  the  appearance 
of  virtue,  it  never  can  explain  the  origin  of  our  notions  of 
duty  and  of  moral  obligation.  One  striking  proof  of  this 
is,  that  the  love  of  fame  can  only  be  completely  gratified 
by  the  actual  possession  of  those  qualities  for  which  we 
wish  to  be  esteemed  ;  and  that,  when  we  receive  praises 
which  we  know  we  do  not  deserve,  we  are  conscious  of  a 
sort  of  fraud  or  imposition  on  the  world. 

"All  fame  is  foreign  but  of  true  desert, — 
Plays  round  the  head,  but  comes  not  to  the  heart." 

In  further  confirmation  of  the  same  doctrine  it  may  be 
observed,  that,  although  the  desire  of  esteem  is  often  a 
useful  auxiliary  to  our  sense  of  duty,  and  although,  in  most 
of  our  good  actions,  the  two  principles  are  perhaps  more 
or  less  blended  together,  yet  the  merit  of  virtuous  con- 


DESIRE    OF    ESTEEM.  39 

duct  is  always  enhanced,  in  the  opinion  of  mankind,  when 
it  is  discovered  in  the  more  private  situations  of  life,  where 
the  individual  cannot  be  suspected  of  any  views  to  the 
applauses  of  the  world.  Even  Cicero,  in  whose  mind 
vanity  had  at  least  its  due  sway,  has  borne  testimony  to 
this  truth  :  —  "  Mihi  quidem  laudabiliora  videntur  omnia, 
qua?  sine  venditatione  et  sine  populo  teste  fiunt  :  non  quo 
fugiendus  sit  (omnia  enim  benefacta  in  luce  se  collocari 
voluntj  sed  tamen  nullum  theatrum  virtuti  conscientia 
majus  est."  *  So  far,  therefore,  are  the  desire  of  esteem 


*  Tusc.  Disp.t  Lib.  II.  26.  "  Besides,  to  me,  indeed,  every  thing 
seems  the  more  commendable,  the  less  the  people  are  courted,  and  the 
fewer  eyes  there  are  to  see  it.  Not  that  observation  is  to  be  avoided, 
for  every  generous  action  loves  the  public  view  ;  still,  there  is  no  theatre 
for  virtue  like  the  witness  of  a  good  conscience."  The  same  remark  is 
made  by  Pliny  in  one  of  his  epistles,  Lib.  III.  Epist.  XVI.,  where  it 
is  illustrated  by  one  of  the  most  beautiful  anecdotes  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  our  species.  Although  no  English  version  can  possibly  do 
justice  to  the  conciseness  and  spirit  of  Pliny's  own  language,  I  shall,  for 
the  sake  of  my  unlearned  readers,  quote  the  anecdote  referred  to  above, 
in  the  admirable  translation  of  Mr.  Melmoth. 

"  I  have  frequently  observed,  that,  amongst  the  noble  actions  and  re- 
markable sayings  of  distinguished  persons  in  either  sex,  those  which 
have  been  most  celebrated  have  not  always  been  the  most  illustrious ; 
and  I  am  confirmed  in  this  opinion  by  a  conversation  I  had  yesterday 
with  Fannia,  This  lady  is  granddaughter  to  that  celebrated  Arria 
who  animated  her  husband  to  meet  death  by  her  own  glorious  example. 
She  informed  me  of  several  particulars  relating  to  Arria,  not  less  hero- 
ical  than  this  famous  action  of  hers,  though  less  taken  notice  of,  which, 
I  am  persuaded,  will  raise  your  admiration  as  much  as  they  did  mine. 
Her  husband,  Cascinna  Paetus,  and  his  son,  were  both  at  the  same  time 
attacked  with  a  dangerous  illness,  of  which  the  son  died.  This  youth, 
who  had  a  most  beautiful  person  and  amiable  behaviour,  was  not  less 
endeared  to  his  parents  by  his  virtues  than  by  the  ties  of  affection. 
His  mother  managed  his  funeral  so  privately,  that  Poetus  did  not  know 
of  his  death.  Whenever  she  came  to  his  bed-chamber  she  pretended 
her  son  was  better;  and,  as  often  as  he  inquired  after  his  health,  would 
answer  that  he  had  rested  well,  or  had  eat  with  an  appetite.  When 
she  found  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her  grief,  but  her  tears  were 
gushing  out,  she  would  leave  the  room,  and,  having  given  vent  to  her 
passion,  return  again  with  dry  eye?,  as  if  she  had  dismissed  every 
sentiment  of  sorrow  at  her  entrance.  The  action  was  no  doubt  truly 
noble,  when,  drawing  the  dagger,  she  plunged  it  in  her  breast,  and  then 
presented  it  to  her  husband,  with  that  ever  memorable,  I  had  almost 
said  divine  expression,  —  '•Pcctus,  it  is  not  painful.'  It  must,  however,  be 
considered  that  when  she  spoke  and  acted  thus  she  had  the  prospect  of 
immortal  glory  before  her  eyes  to  encourage  and  support  her.  But  was 
it  not  something  much  greater,  without  the  view  of  such  powerful 
motives,  to  hide  her  tears,  to  conceal  her  grief,  and  cheerfully  seem  the 
mother  when  she  was  so  no  more  ?" 


40  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

and  the  sense  of  duty  from  being  radically  the  same  prin- 
ciple of  action,  that  the  former  is  only  an  auxiliary  to  the 
latter,  and  is  always  understood  to  diminish  the  merit  of 
the  agent  in  proportion  to  the  influence  it  had  over  his 
determinations. 

An  additional  proof  of  this  may  be  derived  from  the 
miserable  effects  produced  on  the  conduct  by  the  desire 
of  fame,  when  it  is  the  sole,  or  even  the  governing,  prin- 
ciple of  our  actions.  In  this  case,  indeed,  it  seldom 
fails  to  disappoint  its  own  purposes,  for  a  lasting  fame  is 
scarcely  to  be  acquired  without  a  steady  and  consistent 
conduct,  and  such  a  conduct  can  only  arise  from  a  con- 
scientious regard  to  the  suggestions  of  our  own  breasts. 
The  pleasure,  therefore,  which  a  being  capable  of  reflec- 
tion derives  from  the  possession  of  fame,  so  far  from  being 
the  original  motive  to  worthy  actions,  presupposes  the 
existence  of  other  and  of  nobler  motives  in  the  mind. 

Nor  is  this  all ;  when  a  competition  happens  between 
the  desire  of  fame  and  a  regard  to  duty,  if  we  sacrifice 
the  latter  to  the  former  we  are  filled  with  remorse  and 
self-condemnation,  and  the  applauses  of  the  world  afford 
us  but  an  empty  and  unsatisfactory  recompense  ;  whereas 
a  steady  adherence  to  the  right,  even  although  it  should 
accidentally  expose  us  to  calumny,  never  fails  to  be  its 
own  reward.  Whether,  therefore,  we  regard  our  lasting 
happiness  or  our  lasting  fame,  the  precept  of  Cicero  is 
equally  deserving  of  our  attention. 

"  Neither  make  it  your  study  to  secure  the  applauses  of 
the  vulgar,  nor  rest  your  hopes  of  happiness  on  rewards 
which  men  can  bestow.  Let  virtue,  by  her  own  native 
attractions,  allure  you. in  the  paths  of  honor.  What 
others  may  say  of  you  is  their  concern,  not  yours  ;  nor  is 
it  worth  your  while  to  be  out  of  humor  for  the  topics 
which  your  conduct  may  supply  to  their  conversation." — 
"  Neque  sermonibus  vulgi  dederis  te,  nee  in  praemiis 
humanis  spem  posueris  rerum  tuarum  ;  suis  te  oportet 
illecebris  ipsa  virtus  trahat  ad  verum  decus.  Quid  de  te 
alii  loquantur,  ipsi  videant :  sed  loquentur  tamen."* 

*  Somn.  Scipionis. 


DESIRE    OF    POWER.  41 

SECTION    IV.      pt 

THE    DESIRE    OF    POWER. 

I.  Early  .Manifestations  of  this  Principle. ]  The  man- 
ner in  which  the  idea  of  power  is  at  first  introduced  into 
the  mind  has  been  long  a  perplexing  subject  of  speculation 
to  metaphysicians,  and  has  given  rise  to  some  of  the 
most  subtile  disquisitions  of  the  human  understanding. 
But,  although  it  be  difficult  to  explain  its  origin,  the  idea 
itself  is  familiar  to  the  most  illiterate,  even  at  the  earliest 
period  of  life  ;  and  the  desire  of  possessing  the  corre- 
sponding object  seems  to  be  one  of  the  strongest  principles 
of  human  conduct. 

In  general,  it  may  be  observed,  that,  wherever  we  are 
led  to  consider  ourselves  as  the  authors  of  any  effect,  we 
feel  a  sensible  pride  or  exultation  in  the  consciousness  of 
potcer,  and  the  pleasure  is  in  general  proportioned  to  the 
greatness  of  the  effect,  compared  with  the  smallness  of 
our  exertion. 

What  is  commonly  called  the  pleasure  of  activity  is  in 
truth  the  pleasure  of  power.  Mere  exercise,  which  pro- 
duces no  sensible  effect,  is  attended  with  no  enjoyment, 
or  a  very  slight  one.  The  enjoyment,  such  as  it  is,  is 
only  corporeal. 

The  infant,  while  still  on  the  breast,  delights  in  exerting 
its  little  strength  on  every  object  it  meets  with,  and  is 
mortified  when  any  accident  convinces  it  of  its  own  imbe- 
cility. The  pastimes  of  the  boy  are  almost,  without  excep- 
tion, such  as  suggest  to  him  the  idea  of  his  power.  When 
he  throws  a  stqne,  or  shoots  an  arrow,  he  is  pleased  with 
being  able  to  produce  an  effect  at  a  distance  from  himself; 
and,  while  he  measures  with  his  eye  the  amplitude  or 
range  of  his  missile  weapon,  contemplates  with  satisfaction 
the  extent  to  which  his  power  has  reached.  It  is  on  a 
similar  principle  that  he  loves  to  bring  his  strength  into 
comparison  with  that  of  his  fellows,  and  to  enjoy  the  con- 
sciousness of  superior  prowess.  Nor  need  we  search  in 
the  malevolent  dispositions  of  our  nature  for  any  other 
motive  to  the  apparent  acts  of  cruelty  which  he  sometimes 
4* 


42  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

exercises  over  the  inferior  animals,  —  the  sufferings  of 
the  animal,  in  such  cases,  either  entirely  escaping  his 
notice,  or  being  overlooked  in  that  state  of  pleasurable 
triumph  which  the  wanton  abuse  of  power  communicates 
to  a  weak  and  unreflecting  judgment.  The  active  sports 
of  the  youth  captivate  his  fancy  by  suggesting  similar 
ideas,  — of  strength  of  body,  of  force  of  mind,  of  con- 
tempt of  hardship  and  of  danger.  And  accordingly  such 
are  the  occupations  in  which  Virgil,  with  a  characteristical 
propriety,  employs  his  young  Ascanius. 

"  At  puer  Ascanius  mediis  in  vallibus  acri 
Gaudet  equo ;  jamque  hos  cursu,  jam  prseterit  illos ; 
Spumantemque  dari  pecora  inter  inertia  votis 
Optat  apruin,  aut  fulvum  descendere  monte  leonem."* 

II.  Increases  our  Desire  of  Knowledge  in  after  Life.~\ 
As  we  advance  in  years,  and  as  our  animal  powers  lose 
their  activity  and  vigor,  we  gradually  aim  at  extending 
our  influence  over  others  by  the  superiority  of  fortune  and 
station,  or  by  the  still  more  flattering  superiority  of  intel- 
lectual endowments,  by  the  force  of  our  understanding,  by 
the  extent  of  our  information,  by  the  arts  of  persuasion, 
or  the  accomplishments  of  address.  What  but  the  idea 
of  power  pleases  the  orator  in  managing  the  reins  of  an 
assembled  multitude,  when  he  silences  the  reason  of  others 
by  superior  ingenuity,  bends  to  his  purposes  their  desires 
and  passions,  and,  without  the  aid  of  force  or  the  splendor 
of  rank,  becomes  the  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  nations  ! 

To  the  same  principle  we  may  trace,  in  part,  the  pleas- 
ure arising  from  the  discovery  of  general  theorems  in  the 
sciences.  Every  such  discovery  puts  us  in  possession  of 
innumerable  particular  truths  or  particular  facts,  and  gives 
us  a  ready  command  of  a  great  stock  of  knowledge,  of 

•  JEntid,  Lib.  IV.  156. 

"While  there,  exulting,  to  his  utmost  speed 
The  young  Ascanius  spurs  his  fiery  steed, 
Outstrips  by  turns  the  flying  social  train, 
And  scorns  the  meaner  triumphs  of  the  plain : 
The  hopes  of  glory  all  his  soul  inflame ; 
Eager  he  longs  to  run  at  nobler  game, 
And  drench  his  youthful  javelin  in  the  gore 
Of  the  fierce  iion,  or  the  mountain  boar.'' 


DESIRE    OF    POWER.  43 

which  we  could  not,  with  equal  ease,  avail  ourselves 
before.  It  increases,  in  a  word,  our  intellectual  power  in 
a  way  very  analogous  to  that  in  which  a  machine  or  engine 
increases  the  mechanical  power  of  the  human  body. 

The  discoveries  we  make  in  natural  philosophy  have, 
beside  this  effect,  a  tendency  to  enlarge  the  sphere  o£  our 
power  over  the  material  universe  ;  first,  by  enabling  us  to 
accommodate  our  conduct  to  the  established  course  of 
physical  events ;  and  secondly,  by  enabling  us  to  call  to 
our  aid  many  natural  powers  or  agents  as  instruments  for 
the  accomplishment  of  our  purposes. 

In  general,  every  discovery  we  make  with  respect  to 
the  laws  of  nature,  either  in  the  material  or  moral  worlds, 
is  an  accession  of  power  to  the  human  mind,  inasmuch  as 
it  lays  the  foundation  of  prudent  and  effectual  conduct  in 
circumstances  where,  without  the  same  means  of  informa- 
tion, the  success  of  our  proceedings  must  have  depended 
on  chance  alone.  The  desire  of  power,  therefore,  comes, 
in  the  progress  of  reason  and  experience,  to  act  as  an 
auxiliary  to  our  instinctive  desire  of  knowledge ;  and  it  is 
with  a  view  to  strengthen  and  confirm  this  alliance  that 
Bacon  so  often  repeats  his  favorite  maxim,  that  knowledge 
and  power  are  synonymous  or  identical  terms. 

III.  Other  Passions  resolvable,  in  part  at  least,  into 
the  Desire  of  Power.]  The  idea  of  power  is,  partly  at 
least,  the  foundation  of  our  attachment  to  property.  It  is 
not  enough  for  us  to  have  the  use  of  an  object.  We 
desire  to  have  it  completely  at  our  own  disposal,  without 
being  responsible  to  any  person  whatsoever  for  the  pur- 
poses to  which  we  may  choose  to  turn  it.  "  There  is  an 
unspeakable  pleasure,"  says  Addison,  "  in  calling  any 
thing  one's  own.  A  freehold,  though  it  be  but  in  ice  and 
snow,  will  make  the  owner  pleased  in  the  possession  and 
stout  in  the  defence  of  it." 

•Avarice  is  a  particular  modification  of  the  desire  of 
power,  arising  from  the  various  functions  of  money  in  a 
commercial  country.  Its  influence  as  an  active  principle 
is  greatly  strengthened  by  habit  and  association,  insomuch 
that  the  original  desire  of  power  is  frequently  lost  in  the 
acquired  propensities  to  which  it  gives  birth  ;  the  posses- 


44  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES   OF    ACTION. 

sion  of  money  becoming,  in  process  of  time,  an  ultimate 
object  of  pursuit,  and  continuing  to  stimulate  the  activity 
of  the  mind  after  it  has  lost  a  relish  for  every  other  species 
of  exertion.* 

The  love  of  liberty  proceeds  in  part,  if  not  wholly, 
from,  the  same  source  ;  from  a  desire  of  being  able  to  do 
whatever  is  agreeable  to  our  own  inclination.  Slavery 
mortifies  us,  because  it  limits  our  power. 

Even  the  love  of  tranquillity  and  retirement  has  been 
resolved  by  Cicero  into  the  desire  of  power.  "  Multi 
autem  et  sunt  et  fuerunt,  qui  earn,  quam  dico,  tranquilli- 
tatetn  expetentes,  a  negotiis  publicis  se  removerint,  ad 

otiumque  perfugerint His  idem  propositum  fuit 

quod  regibus,  ut  ne  qua  re  egerent,  ne  cui  parerent,  liber- 
tate  uterentur ;  cujus  proprium  est  sic  vivere  ut  velis. 
Quare,  cum  hoc  commune  sit  potentiae  cupidorum  cum  iis 
quos  dixi  otiosis  ;  alteri  se  adipisci  id  posse  arbitrantur, 
si  opes  magnas  habeant,  alteri,  si  contend  sint  et  suo,  et 
parvo."f 

The  idea  of  power  is  also,  in  some  degree,  the  founda- 
tion of  the  pleasure  of  virtue.  We  love  to  be  at  liberty 
to  follow  our  own  inclinations,  without  being  subject  to 
the  control  of  a  superior  ;  but  even  this  is  not  sufficient  to 
our  happiness.  When  we  are  led  by  vicious  habits,  or 


*  Berkeley  in  his  Querist  has  started  the  same  idea. 

"  Whether  the  real  end  and  aim  of  men  be  not  power?  and  whether 
he  who  could  have  every  thing  else  at  his  wish  or  will  would  value 
money?" 

To  this  query  the  good  Bishop  has  subjoined  another,  which  one 
would  hardly  have  expected  from  a  writer  so  zealously  attached  to  Tory 
and  High-Church  principles. 

"  Whether  the  public  aim  in  every  well-governed  state  be  not,  that 
each  member,  according  to  his  just  pretensions  and  industry,  should 
have  POWER  ? " 

Naturam  expellas  furcd,  tamen  usque  recurret. 

t  De  Off.,  Lib.  I.  20,  21.  "Now  there  have  been  and  are  many 
who  have  withdrawn  from  public  business,  and  sought  in  retirement 
the  tranquillity  of  which  I  am  speaking.  These  men  have  proposed  to 
themselves  the  same  end  with  kings;  namely,  that  they  may  need 
nothing,  be  subject  to  no  one,  and  enjoy  freedom,  the  leading  privilege 
of  which  is  to  live  as  you  please.  They,  therefore,  who  aspire  after 
power  have  this  in  common  with  those  who  court  retirement,  that  the 
former  think  they  are  able  to  attain  the  same  object  by  the  possession 
of  a  vast  fortune  which  the  other  look  for  in  contentment  with  their 
present  means,  however  humble." 


DESIRE    OF    SUPERIORITY.  45 

by  the  force  of  passion,  to  do  what  reason  disapproves, 
we  are  sensible  of  a  mortifying  subjection  to  the  inferior 
principles  of  our  nature,  and  feel  our  own  littleness  and 
weakness.  On  the  other  hand,  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit 
feels  himself  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.  "It  is 
pleasant,"  says  Dr.  Tillotson,  "  to  be  virtuous  and  good, 
because  that  is  to  excel  many  others.  It  is  pleasant  to 
grow  better,  because  that  is  to  excel  ourselves.  It  is 
pleasant  to  mortify  and  subdue  our  appetites,  because  that 
is  victory.  It  is  pleasant  to  command  our  passions,  and 
keep  them  within  the  bounds  of  reason,  because  this  is 
empire." 

From  the  observations  now  made,  it  appears  that  the 
desire  of  power  is  subservient  to  important  purposes  in 
our  constitution,  and  is  one  of  the  principal  sources  both 
of  our  intellectual  and  moral  improvements.  An  exami- 
nation of  the  effects  which  it  produces  on  society  would 
open  views  very  strikingly  illustrative  of  benevolent  inten- 
tion in  the  Author  of  our  frame.  I  shall  content  myself, 
however,  with  remarking,  that  the  general  aspect  of  the 
fact  affords  a  very  favorable  view  of  human  nature.  When 
we  consider  how  much  more  every  man  has  it  in  his 
power  to  injure  others  than  to  promote  their  interests,  it 
must  appear  manifest  that  society  could  not  possibly  sub- 
sist unless  the  benevolent  affections  had  a  very  decided 
predominance  over  those  principles  which  give  rise  to 
competition  and  enmity.  Whoever  reflects  duly  on  this 
consideration  will,  if  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  be  inclined 
to  form  conclusions  concerning  the  dispositions  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures very  different  from  the  representations  of 
them  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of  some  gloomy  and  mis- 
anthropical moralists.* 


SECTION   V. 

EMULATION,    OR    THE    DESIRE    OF    SUPERIORITY. 

I.  JVbZ   a  Malevolent   Jlffection.]     This   principle  of 
action  is  classed  by  Dr.  Reid  with  the  affections,  and  is 

*  On  ambition  see  Lieber,  Political  Ethics,  Book  III.  Chap.  iv.  —  ED. 


46  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

considered  by  him  as  a  malevolent  affection.*  He  tells 
us,  however,  that  he  does  not  mean  by  this  epithet  to 
insinuate  that  there  is  any  thing  criminal  in  emulation  any 
more  than  in  resentment  when  excited  by  an  injury  ;  but 
he  thinks  that  it  involves  a  sentiment  of  ill-will  to  our 
rival,  and  makes  use  of  the  word  malevolent  to  express 
this  sentiment,  as  the  language  affords  no  softer  epithet  to 
convey  the  idea. 

I  own  it  appears  to  me  that  emulation,  considered  as  a 
principle  of  action,  ought  to  be  classed  with  the  desires, 
and  not  with  the  affections.  It  is,  indeed,  frequently  ac- 
companied with  a  malevolent  affection  ;  but  it  is  the  desire 
of  superiority  which  is  the  active  principle,  and  the  affec- 
tion is  only  a  concomitant  circumstance. 

I  do  not  even  think  that  this  malevolent  affection  is  a 
necessary  concomitant  of  the  desire  of  superiority.  It  is 
possible,  surely,  to  conceive  (although  the  case  may  hap- 
pen but  rarely)  that  emulation  may  take  place  between 
men  who  are  united  by  the  most  cordial  friendship,  and 
without  a  single  sentiment  of  ill-will  disturbing  their  har- 
mony. 

II.  Distinction  between  Emulation  and  Envy.~\  When 
emulation  is  accompanied  with  malevolent  affection,  it 
assumes  the  name  of  envy.  The  distinction  between 
these  two  principles  of  action  is  accurately  stated  by  Dr. 
Butler.  "Emulation  is  merely  the  desire  of  superiority 
over  others,  with  whom  we  compare  ourselves.  To  de- 
sire the  attainment  of  this  superiority  by  the  particular 
means  of  others  being  brought  down  below  our  own  level 
is  the  distinct  notion  of  envy.  From  whence  it  is  easy  to 
see,  that  the  real  end  which  the  natural  passion,  emulation, 
and  which  the  unlawful  one,  envy,  aims  at  is  exactly  the 
same ;  and,  consequently,  that  to  do  mischief  is  not  the 
end  of  envy,  but  merely  the  means  it  makes  use  of  to 
attain  its  end."  f  Dr.  Reid  himself  seems  to  have  clearly 
perceived  the  distinction,  although  in  other  parts  of  the 
same  section  he  has  lost  sight  of  it  again.  "  He  who  runs 

*  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers,  Ess.  III.  P.  II.  Chap.  v. 
t  Sermon  I.,  On  Human  J\"ature. 


DESIRE    OF    SUPERIORITY.  47 

a  race,"  says  he,  "  feels  uneasiness  at  seeing  another  out- 
strip him.  This  is  uncorrupted  nature,  and  the  work  of 
God  within  him.  But  this  uneasiness  may  produce  either 
of  two  very  different  effects.  It  may  incite  him  to  make 
more  vigorous  exertions,  and  to  strain  every  nerve  to  get 
before  his  rival.  This  is  fair  and  honest  emulation.  This 
is  the  effect  it  is  intended  to  produce.  But  if  he  has  not 
fairness  and  candor  of  heart,  he  will  look  with  an  evil  eye 
on  his  competitor,  and  will  endeavour  to  trip  him,  or  to 
throw  a  stumbling-block  in  his  way.  This  is  pure  envy, 
the  most  malignant  passion  that  can  lodge  in  the  human 
breast,  which  devours,  as  its  natural  food,  the  fame  and 
the  happiness  of  those  who  are  most  deserving  of  our 
esteem."  * 

In  quoting  these  passages,  I  would  not  be  understood 
to  represent  this  distinction  between  emulation  and  envy 
as  a  novelty  in  the  science  of  ethics  ;  for  the  very  same 
distinction  was  long  ago  stated  with  admirable  conciseness 
and  justness  by  Aristotle  ;  whose  definitions,  (I  shall  take 
this  opportunity  of  remarking  by  the  way,)  however  cen- 
surable they  may  frequently  be  when  they  relate  to  physical 
subjects,  are,  in  most  instances,  peculiarly  happy  when 
they  relate  to  moral  ideas.  "^Emulatio  bonum  quiddam 
est,  et  bonis  viris  convenit  ;  at  invidere  improbum  est,  et 
hominum  improborum  ;  nam  aemulans  talem  efficere  se 

*  Reid,'  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  P.  II.  Chap.  v.  Dr. 
Beattie,  in  his  Elements  of  Moral  Science,  after  stating  very  correctly 
the  speculative  distinction  between  emulation  and  envy,  observes  with 
great  truth,  that  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  preserve  the  former  wholly 
unmixed  with  the  latter,  and  that  emulation,  though  entirely  different 
from  envy,' is  very  apt,  through  the  weakness  of  our  nature,  to  degen- 
erate into  it.  To  this  remark  he  subjoins  the  following  very  striking 
practical  reflection.  "  Let  the  man,"  says  he,  "  who  thinks  he  is  ac- 
tuated by  generous  emulation  only,  and  wishes  to  know  whether  there 
be  any  thing  of  envy  in  the  case,  examine  his  own  heart,  and  ask  him- 
self whether  his  friends,  on  becoming,  though  in  an  honorable  way,  his 
competitors,  have  less  of  his  affection  than  they  had  before ;  whether  he 
be  gratified  by  hearing  them  depreciated  ;  whether  he  would  wish 
their  merit  less,  that  he  might  the  more  easily  equal  or  excel  them;  and 
whether  he  would  have  a  more  sincere  regard  for  them  if  the  world 
were  to  acknowledge  him  their  superior.  If  his  heart  answer  all  or 
any  of  these  questions  in  the  affirmative,  it  is  time  to  look  out  for  a 
cure,  for  the  symptoms  of  envy  are  but  too  apparent."  Part  I.  Chap, 
ii.  §  5. 


48  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

studet,   ut   ipsa   bona    quoque    nanciscatur  ;    at   invidens 
studet  efficere,  ut  ne  alter  boni  quid  habeat."  * 

Before  leaving  the  subject,  I  think  it  of  consequence 
again  to  repeat,  that,  notwithstanding  the  speculative  dis- 
tinction I  have  been  endeavouring  to  make  between 
emulation  and  envy,  the  former  disposition  is  so  seldom 
altogether  unmixed  with  the  latter,  that  men  who  are 
conscious  of  possessing  original  powers  of  thinking  can 
scarcely  be  at  too  much  pains  to  draw  a  veil  over  their 
claims  to  originality,  if  they  wish  to  employ  their  talents 
to  the  best  advantage  in  the  service  of  mankind. 

"  Men  must  be  taught  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot."  t 

In  the  observations  which  I  have  hitherto  made  upon 
emulation,  I  have  proceeded  on  the  supposition,  that  the 
subject  of  competition  is  the  personal  qualities  of  the  indi- 
vidual. These,  however,  are  not  the  great  objects  of 
ambition  with  the  bulk  of  mankind,  nor  perhaps  do  they 
occasion  jealousies  and  enmities  so  fatal  to  our  morals 
and  our  happiness,  as  those  which  are  occasioned  by  the 
seemingly  partial  and  unjust  distribution  of  the  goods  of 
fortune.  To  see  the  natural  rewards  of  industry  and 
genius  fall  to  the  share  of  the  weak  and  the  profligate  can 
scarcely  fail  to  excite  a  regret  in  the  best  regulated  tem- 
pers ;  and  to  those  who  are  disposed  (as  every  man  per- 
haps is  in  some  degree)  to  overrate  their  own  pretensions, 
and  to  undervalue  those  of  their  neighbours,  this  regret  is  a 
source  of  discontent  and  misery,  which  no  measure  of  ex- 
ternal prosperity  is  sufficient  to  remove.  The  feeling, 
when  it  does  not  lead  to  any  act  of  injustice  or  dishonor, 
is  so  intimately  connected  with  our  sense  of  merit  and 
demerit,  that  many  allowances  for  it  will  be  made  by  those 
who  reflect  candidly  on  the  common  infirmities  of  humani- 
ty ;  and  much  indulgence  is  due  from  the  prosperous  to 
their  less  fortunate  rivals.  So  much,  indeed,  is  this  5n- 

*  Aristot.,  Rhetor.,  Lib.  II.  Cap.  xi.  The  whole  chapter  is  excellent. 
I  have  adopted  in  the  text  the  Latin  version  of  Buhle.  "  Emulation 
is  a  good  thing  and  belongs  to  good  men;  envy  is  bad,  and  belongs  to 
bad  men.  What  a  man  is  emulous  of  he  strives  to  attain,  that  he  may 
really  possess  the  desired  object;  the  envious  are  satisfied  if  nobody 
has  It.'* 

t  Pope's  Essay  on  Criticism,  1.  574. 


DESIRE    OF    SUPERIORITY.  49 

diligence  recommended  to  us  by  all  the  best  principles  of 
our  nature,  and  so  painful  is  the  reflection  that  we  are  even 
the  innocent  cause  of  disquiet  to  others,  that  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  the  constraint  and  embarrassment  pro- 
duced by  great  and  sudden  accessions  of  prosperity  be 
not  more  than  sufficient  to  counterbalance  any  solid  addi- 
tion they  are  likely  to  bring  to  our  own  happiness.* 

III.  The  Desire  to  excel  a  universal  Passion.] 
Among  the  lower  animals  we  see  many  symptoms  of  em- 

*  The  following  admirable  passage  is  from  Smith's  Theory  of  the 
Moral  Sentiment*, Part  I.  Sect.  II.  Chap.  v. :  —  "  The  man  who,  by  some 
sudden  revolution  of  fortune,  is  lifted  up  all  at  once  into  a  condition  of 
life  greatly  above  what  he  had  formerly  lived  in,  rriny  be  assured  that 
the  congratulations  of  his  best  friends  are  not  all  of  them  perfectly  sin- 
cere. An  upstart,  though  of  the  greatest  merit,  is  generally  disagreea- 
ble, and  a  sentiment  of  envy  commonly  prevents  us  from  ht-artily 
sympathizing  with  his  joy.  Jf  he  has  any  judgment,  he  is  sensible  of 
this,  and,  instead  of  appearing  to  be  elated  with  his  good  fortune,  he 
endeavours,  as  much  as  he  can,  to  smother  his  joy,  and  keep  down  that 
elevation  of  mind  with  which  his  new  circumstances  naturally  inspire 
him.  He  affects  the  same  plainness  of  dress,  and  the  same  modesty  of 
behaviour,  which  became  him  in  his  former  station.  He  redoubles  his 
attentions  to  his  old  friends,  and  endeavours  more  than  ever  to  be  hum- 
ble, assiduous,  and  complaisant.  And  this  is  the  behaviour  which  in  his 
situation  we  most  approve  of;  because  we  expect,  it  seems,  that  he 
should  have  more  sympathy  with  our  envy  and  aversion  to  his  happi- 
ness than  we  have  to  his  happiness.  It  is  seldom  that,  with  all  this,  he 
succeeds.  We  suspect  the  sincerity  of  his  humility,  and  he  grows  weary 
of  this  constraint.  In  a  little  time,  therefore,  he  generally  leaves  all 
his  old  friends  behind  him,  some  of  the  meanest  of  them  excepted,  who 
may,  perhaps,  condescend  to  become  his  dependents  :  nor  does  he 
always  acquire  any  new  ones  ;  the  pride  of  his  new  connections  is  as 
much  affronted  at  finding  him  their  equal,  as  that  of  his  old  ones  had 
been  by  his  becoming  their  superior;  and  it  requires  the  most  obstinate 
and  persevering  modesty  to  atone  for  this  mortification  to  either.  He 
generally  grows  weary  too  soon,  and  is  provoked,  by  the  sullen  and 
suspicious  pride  of  the  one,  and  by  the  saucy  contempt  of  the  other,  to 
treat  the  first  with  neglect  and  the  second  with  petulance,  till  at  last  he 
grows  habitually  insolent,  and  forfeits  the  esteem  of  all.  If  the  chief 
part  of  human  happiness  arises  from  the  consciousness  of  being  beloved, 
as  I  believe  it  does,  these  sudden  changes  of  fortune  seldom  contribute 
much  to  happiness.  He  is  happiest  who  advances  more  gradually  to 
greatness,  whom  the  public  destines  to  every  step  of  his  preferment 
long  before  he  arrives  at  it,  in  whom,  upon  that  account,  when  it  comes, 
it  can  excite  no  extravagant  joy,  and  with  regard  to  whom  it  cannot 
reasonably  create  either  any  jealousy  in  those  he  overtakes,  or  any 
envy  in  those  he  leaves  behind." 

In  Bacon's  Essays  there  is  an  article  on  Envy,  abounding  with  origi- 
nal, and,  in  the  mam,  just  reflections.  Even  those  which  are  somewhat 
questionable  may  be  useful  in  suggesting  materials  of  thought  to  others. 

5 


50  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

ulation,  but  in  them  its  effects  are  perfectly  insignificant 
when  compared  with  those  it  produces  on  human  conduct. 
Their  emulation  is  chiefly  confined  to  swiftness,*  strength, 
or  favor  with  their  females.  I  think,  too,  among  dogs  we 
may  perceive  something  like  jealousy  or  rivalship  in  court- 
ing the  favor  of  man.  In  our  own  race  emulation  operates 
in  an  infinite  variety  of  directions,  and  is  one  of  the  princi- 
pal sources  of  human  improvement. 

Human  life  has  been  often  likened  to  a  race,  and  the 
parallel  holds,  not  only  in  the  general  resemblance,  but  in 
many  of  the  minuter  circumstances.  When  the  horses 
first  start  from  the  barrier,  how  easy  and  sportive  are 
their  sallies,  —  sometimes  one  taking  the  lead,  sometimes 
another  !  If  they  happen  to  run  abreast,  their  contiguity 
seems  only  the  effect  of  the  social  instinct.  In  propor- 
tion, however,  as  they  advance  in  their  career,  the  spirit 
of  emulation  becomes  gradually  more  apparent,  till  at 
length,  as  they  draw  near  to  the  goal,  every  sinew  and 
every  nerve  is  strained  to  the  utmost,  and  it  is  well  if  the 
competition  closes  without  some  suspicion  of  jostling  and 
foul  play  on  the  part  of  the  winner. 

How  exact  and  melancholy  a  picture  of  the  race  of  am- 
bition ;  of  the  insensible  and  almost  inevitable  effect  of 
political  rivalship  in  extinguishing  early  friendships  ;  and 
of  the  increasing  eagerness  with  which  men  continue  to 
grasp  at  the  palm  of  victory  till  the  fatal  moment  arrives 
when  it  is  to  drop  from  their  hands  for  ever  ! 


Artificial  Desires.]  As  we  have  artificial  appetites,  so 
we  have  also  artificial  desires.  Whatever  conduces  to 
the  attainment  of  any  object  of  natural  desire  is  itself 
desired  on  account  of  its  subservience  to  this  end,  and 
frequently  comes  in  process  of  time  to  be  regarded  as  val- 
uable in  itself,  independent  of  this  subservience.  It  is 

*  One  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  of  this  that  I  have  read  of 
is  the  emulation  of  the  race-horses  at  Rome  when  run  without  riders. 
This  emulation  is  even  said  to  be  inspirited  by  the  concourse  of  spec- 
tators. —  See  Observations  made  in  a  Tour  to  Italy,  by  the  celebrated  M. 
de  la  Condamine. 


ARTIFICIAL    DESIRES.  51 

thus  (as  was  formerly  observed)  that  wealth  becomes  with 
many  an  ultimate  object  of  desire,  although  it  is  undoubt- 
edly valued  at  first  merely  on  account  of  its  subservience 
to  the  attainment  of  other  objects.  In  like  manner  we 
are  led  to  desire  dress,  equipage,  retinue,  furniture,  on 
account  of  the  estimation  in  which  they  are  supposed  to 
be  held  by  the  public.  Dr.  Hutcheson  calls  such  desires 
secondary  desires,  and  accounts  for  their  origin  in  the  way 
I  have  now  mentioned.  "  Since  we  are  capable,"  says 
he,  "  of  reflection,  memory,  observation,  and  reasoning 
about  the  distant  tendencies  of  objects  and  actions,  and 
not  confined  to  things  present,  there. must  arise,  in  conse- 
quence of  our  original  desires,  secondary  desires  of  every 
thing  imagined  to  be  useful  to  gratify  any  of  the  primary 
desires,  and  that  with  strength  proportioned  to  the  several 
original  desires,  and  the  imagined  usefulness  or  necessity 
of  the  advantageous  object."  —  "  Thus,"  he  continues, 
"  as  soon  as  we  come  to  apprehend  the  use  of  wealth  or 
power  to  gratify  any  of  our  original  desires  we  must  also 
desire  them.  Hence  arises  the  universality  of  the  desires 
of  wealth  and  power,  since  they  are  the  means  of  gratify- 
ing all  other  desires."  *  The  only  thing  exceptionable  in 
the  foregoing  passage  is,  that  the  author  classes  the  desire 
of  power  with  that  of  wealth  ;  whereas  I  apprehend  it  to 
be  clear,  according  to  Hutcheson's  own  definition,  that 
the  former  is  a  primary  desire,  and  the  latter  a  secondary 
one.  Avarice,  indeed,  (as  I  have  already  remarked,)  is  but 
a  particular  modification  of  the  desire  of  power  generated 
by  the  conventional  value  which  attaches  to  money  in  the 
progress  of  society,  in  consequence  of  which  it  becomes 
the  immediate  and  the  habitual  object  of  pursuit  in  all  the 
various  departments  of  professional  industry. 

The  author,  also,  of  the  Preliminary  Dissertation  prefixed 
to  King's  Origin  of  Evil  attempts  to  explain,  by  means 
of  the  association  of  ideas,  the  origin,  not  only  of  avarice, 
but  of  the  desire  of  knowledge  and  of  the  desire  of  fame, 
both  of  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  show,  in  the  preced- 
ing pages,  are  justly  entitled  to  rank  with  the  primary  and 
most  simple  elements  of  our  active  constitution.  That 

*  Nature  and  Conduct  of  the  Passions,  Sect.  I.  Art.  II. 


52  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

they,  as  well  as  all  the  other  original  principles  of  our 
nature,  are  very  powerfully  influenced  by  association  and 
habit,  is  a  point  about  which  there  can  be  no  dispute  ;  and 
hence  arises  the  plausibility  of  those  theories  which  would 
represent  them  as  wholly  factitious.* 

*  Dr.  Hartley's  once  celebrated  work,  entitled  Ob  serrations  on  Man, 
in  which  lie  has  pushed  the  theory  of  association  to  so  extravagant  a 
length,  and  which,  not  many  years  ago,  found  so  many  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers in  England,  seems  to  have  owed  its  existence  to  the  dissertation 
here  referred  to. 

"The  work  here  offered  to  the  public,"  he  tells  us  himself  in  his 
preface,  "consists  of  papers  written  at  different  times,  but  taking  their 
rise  from  the  following  occasion. 

"About  eighteen  years  ago  I  was  informed  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gay, 
then  living,  asserted  the  possibility  of  deducing  all  our  intellectual 
pleasures  and  pains  from  association.  This  put  me  upon  considering 
the  power  of  association.  Mr.  Gay  published  his  sentiments  on  .this 
matter,  about  the  same  time,  in  a  Dissertation  on  the  Fundamental.  Prin- 
ciple of  Virtue,  prefixed  to  Mr.  Archdeacon  Law's  Translation  of  Arch- 
bishop King's  Origin  of  Evil." 

[Mr.  Stewart  speaks  with  too  much  confidence  of  the  waning  in- 
fluence of  the  "  once  celebrated  work"  of  Hartley.  Since  he  wrote 
this  note,  one  of  the  ablest  defences  of  the  Hartleian  view  has  appeared 
in  the  Analysis  oft/ie  Human  Mind,  by  James  Mill. 

Most  writers,  holding  with  Stewart  to  a  plurality  of  elementary  de- 
sires, differ  from  him  in  making  the  desire  of  property  and  the  desire 
of  self-preservation  to  be  of  this  number.  See  Upham's  Mental  Phi- 
losophy, Vol.  II.  Part  I.  Chap,  iv.,  and  Whewell's  Elements  of  Morality, 
Book  I.  Chap.  ii.  On  the  desire  of  property,  consult  Lieber's  Political 
Ethics,  Book  II.  Chap,  ii.,  and  Illustrations  of  the  Passions,  Vol.  I.  Chap, 
v.  Also  the  phrenologists,  and  particularly  Gall. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  author  of  the  article  Dcsir  in  the  Dictionnaire 
des  Sciences  Plulosophiqu.es  reduces  them  to  three,  curiosity,  ambition, 
and  sympathy.  This  writer  observes: — "The  mind  always  knows, 
more  or  less,  that  which  it  desires;  reason  illuminates  what  sensibility 
pursues.  Malebranche  gave  the  saying  of  the  poet,  Ignoti  nulla  cvpido, 
under  a  philosophical  form  of  expression,  when  he  defined  desire  to  be 
'  the  idea  of  a  good  which  a  man  possesses  not,  but  hopes  to  possess.' 
Desire  is  distinguished  by  this  from  the  blind  tendency  which  urges 
every  being  towards  its  end,  whether  it  knows  it  or  not.  It  is  a  spon- 
taneous movement  of  nature  transformed  by  intelligence,  and  consti- 
tutes, therefore,  a  phenomenon  which  cannot  take  place  except  among 
intelligent  beings.  A  stone  has  its  affinities;  a  brute  has  its  instincts; 
man  alone  has  his  desires,  because  he  alone  has  received  the  gift  of 
thought." 

Consult,  also,  on  the  subjects  treated  of  in  this  chapter  and  the 
following,  Gibon,  Cours  de  Philosophic,  P  I.  Chap.  ix. ;  Bautain,  Phi- 
losophic Morale,  Partie  Psychologique,  Chap  iv. ;  Dr.  Whewell's  edi- 
tion of  Butler's  Three  Strmons  on  Human  JVature  :  with  a  Preface  and 
Notes.] 


BENEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  53 

CHAPTER    III. 

OF    OUR    AFFECTIONS. 
SECTION  I. 

GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS. 

I.  What  Principles  included  under  this  Head.~\  Under 
this  title  are  comprehended  all  those  active  principles 
whose  direct  and  ultimate  object  is  the  communication 
either  of  enjoyment  or  of  suffering  to  any  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  According  to  this  definition,  which  has  been 
adopted  by  some  eminent  writers,  and  among  others  by 
Dr.  Reid,  resentment,  revenge,  hatred,  belong  to  the  class 
of  our  affections,  as  well  as  gratitude  or  pity.  Hence 
a  distinction  of  the  affections  into  benevolent  and  malevo- 
lent. I  shall  afterwards  mention  some  considerations 
which  lead  me  to  think  that  the  distinction  requires  some 
limitations  in  the  statement. 

Our  benevolent  affections  are  various,  and  it  would 
not  perhaps  be  easy  to  enumerate  them  completely. 
The  parental  and  the  filial  affections,  the  affections  of 
kindred,  love,  friendship,  patriotism,  universal  benevo- 
lence, gratitude,  pity  to  the  distressed,  are  some  of  the 
most  important.  Besides  these  there  are  peculiar  benevo- 
lent affections  excited  by  those  moral  qualities  in  other 
men,  which  render  them  either  amiable  or  respectable, 
or  objects  of  admiration. 

In  the  foregoing  enumeration,  it  is  not  to  be  understood 
that  all  the  benevolent  affections  particularly  specified  are 
stated  as  original  principles,  or  ultimate  facts  in  our  con- 
stitution. On  the  contrary,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
several  of  them  may  be  analyzed  into  the  same  general 
principle  differently  modified,  according  to  the  circum- 
stances in  which  it  operates.  This,  however,  (notwith- 
standing the  stress  which  has  been  sometimes  laid  upon  it,) 
is  chiefly  a  question  of  arrangement.  Whether  we  sup- 
pose these  principles  to  be  all  ultimate  facts,  or  some  of 
them  to  be  resolvable  into  other  facts  more  general,  they 
5* 


54  N    INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

are  equally  to  be  regarded  as  constituent  parts  of  human 
nature,  and,  upon  either  supposition,  we  have  equal  reason 
to  admire  the  wisdom  with  which  that  nature  is  adapted 
to  the  situation  in  which  it  is  placed.  The  laws  which 
regulate  the  acquired  perceptions  of  sight  are  surely  as 
much  a  part  of  our  frame  as  those  which  regulate  any  of 
our  original  perceptions  ;  and  although  they  require  for 
their  development  a  certain  degree  of  experience  and  ob- 
servation in  the  individual,  the  uniformity  of  the  result 
shows  that  there  is  nothing  arbitrary  or  accidental  in  their 
origin. 

The  question,  indeed,  concerning  the  origin  of  our  dif- 
ferent affections,  leads  to  some  curious  disquisitions,  but 
is  of  very  subordinate  importance  to  those  inquiries  which 
relate  to  their  nature  and  laws  and  uses.  In  many  philo- 
sophical systems,  however,  it  seems  to  have  been  con- 
sidered as  the  most  interesting  subject  of  discussion  con- 
nected with  this  part  of  the  human  constitution. 

II.  Two  Circumstances  in  which  all  the  Benevolent 
Affections  agree.}  Before  we  proceed  to  consider  any 
of  our  benevolent  affections  in  detail,  I  shall  make  a 
few  observations  on  two  circumstances  in  which  they  all 
agree. .  In  the  first  place,  they  are  all  accompanied  with 
an  agreeable  feeling  ;  and,  secondly,  they  imply  a  desire 
of  happiness  or  of  good  to  their  respective  objects.* 

1.  That  the  exercise  of  all  our  kind  affections  is  ac- 
companied with  an  agreeable  feeling  will  not  be  ques- 
tioned. Next  to  a  good  conscience  it  constitutes  the 
principal  part  of  human  happiness.  With  what  satisfaction 
do  we  submit  to  fatigue  and  danger  in  the  service  of  those 
we  love,  and  how  many  cares  do  even  the  most  selfish  vol- 
untarily bring  on  themselves  by  their  attachment  to  others  ! 
So  much,  indeed,  of  our  happiness  is  derived  from  this 
source,  that  those  authors  whose  object  is  to  furnish 
amusement  to  the  mind  avail  themselves  of  these  affec- 
tions as  one  of  the  chief  vehicles  of  pleasure.  Hence  the 
principal  charm  of  tragedy,  and  of  every  other  species  of 
pathetic  composition.  How  far  it  is  of  use  to  separate  in 

*  See  Reid  On  the  Retire  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  II.  Chap.  iii. 


BENEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  55 

this  manner  "  the  luxury  of  pity  "  from  the  opportunities 
of  active  exertion  may  perhaps  be  doubted.  My  own 
opinion  on  this  question  I  have  stated  at  some  length  in 
the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind.* 

Without  entering,  however,  in  this  place  into  the  argu- 
ment I  have  there  endeavoured  to  support,  I  shall  only 
remark  at  present,  that  the  pleasures  of  kind  affection  are 
by  no  means  confined  to  the  virtuous  part  of  our  species. 
They  mingle  also  with  our  criminal  indulgences,  and  often 
mislead  the  young  and  thoughtless  by  the  charms  they  im- 
part to  vice  and  folly.  It  is,  indeed,  from  this  very  quarter 
that  the  chief  dangers  to  morals  are  to  be  apprehended  in 
early  life  ;  and  it  is  a  melancholy  consideration  to  add, 
that  these  dangers  are  not  a  little  increased  by  the  amiable 
and  attractive  qualities  by  which  nature  often  distinguishes 
those  unfortunate  men  who  would  seem,  on  a  superficial 
view,  to  be  her  peculiar  favorites. 

Nor  is  it  only  when  the  kind  affections  meet  with  cir- 
cumstances favorable  to  their  operation  that  the  exercise 
of  them  is  a  source  of  enjoyment.  Contrary  to  the  analo- 
gy of  most,  if  not  of  all,  our  other  active  principles,  there 
is  a  degree  of  pleasure  mixed  with  the  pain  even  in  those 
cases  in  which  they  are  disappointed  in  the  attainment  of 
their  object.  Nay,  in  such  cases  it  often  happens  that  the 
pleasure  predominates  so  far  over  the  pain  as  to  produce 
a  mixed  emotion,  on  which  a  wounded  heart  loves  to 
dwell.  When  death,  for  example,  has  deprived  us  of  the 
society  of  a  friend,  we  derive  some  consolation  for  our 
loss  from  the  recollection  of  his  virtues,  which  awakens  in 
our  mind  all  those  kind  affections  which  the  sight  of  him 
used  to  inspire ;  and  in  such  a  situation  the  indulgence  of 
these  affections  is  preferred,  not  only  to  every  lighter 
amusement,  but  to  every  other  social  pleasure.  Heu 
quanto  minus  est  cum  reliquis  versari  quam  tut  meminisse  ! 
The  final  cause  of  the  agreeable  emotion  connected  with 
the  exercise  of  benevolence  in  all  its  various  modes  was 
evidently  to  induce  us  to  cultivate  with  peculiar  care  a  class 
of  our  active  principles  so  immediately  subservient  to  the 
happiness  of  society. f 

*  Part  I.  Chap.  vii.  Sect.  v. 

t  See  Lucan's  picturesque  and  pathetic  description  of  the  behaviour 


56  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

2.  All  our  benevolent  affections  imply  a  desire  of 
happiness  to  their  respective  objects.  Indeed,  it  is  from 
this  circumstance  they  derive  their  name. 

III.  Our  Benevolent  Affections  not  resolvable  into 
Self-love.]  The  philosophers  who  have  endeavoured  to 
resolve  our  appetites  and  desires  into  self-love  have  giv- 
en a  similar  account  of  our  benevolent  affections.  It  is 
evident  that  this  amounts  to  a  denial  of  their  existence 
as  a  separate  class  of  active  principles  ;  for  when  a  thing 
is  desired,  not  on  its  own  account,  but  as  instrumental  to 
the  attainment  of  something  else,  it  is  not  the  desire  of  the 
means,  but  that  of  the  end,  which  is  in  this  case  the  princi- 
ple of  action. 

In  the  course  of  my  observations  on  the  different  affec- 
tions, when  I  come  to  consider  them  particularly,  I  shall 
endeavour  to  show  that  this  account  of  their  origin  is 
extremely  wide  of  the  truth.  In  the  mean  time  it  may-be 
worth  while  to  remark,  in  general,  how  strongly  it  is  op- 
posed by  the  analogy  of  the  other  active  powers  already 
examined.  We  have  found  that  the  preservation  of  the 
individual  and  the  continuation  of  the  species  are  not 
intrusted  to  self-love  and  reason  alone,  but  that  we  are 
endowed  with  various  appetites  which,  without  any  reflec- 
tion on  our  part,  impel  us  to  their  respective  objects.  We 
have  also  found,  with  respect  to  the  acquisition  of  knowl- 
edge, (on  which  the  perfection  of  the  individual  and  the 
improvement  of  the  species  essentially  depend,)  that  it  is 
not  intrusted  solely  to  self-love  and  benevolence,  but  that 
we  are  prompted  to  it  by  the  implanted  principle  of  cu- 
riosity. It  further  appeared,  that,  in  addition  to  our  sense 
of  duty,  another  incentive  to  worthy  conduct  is  provided 
in  the  desire  of  esteem,  which  is  not  only  one  of  our 
most  powerful  principles  of  action,  but  continues  to  operate 

of  Cornelia  when  she  retired  to  the  hold  of  the  ship  to  indulge  her 
grief  in  solitude  and  darkness  after  the  murder  of  Pompey. 

"  Caput  ferali  obduxit  amictu, 
Decrevitque  pati  tenebras,  puppisque  cavernis 
Delituit;  savumque  arct&  comptexa  dolorem 
Perfruitur  lacrymis,  et  amat  pro  conjuge  luctum,"  &c.,  &c. 

P/iarsalia,  Lib.  IX.  109. 


BENEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  57 

in  full  force  to  the  last  moment  of  our  being.  Now,  as 
men  were  plainly  intended  to  live  in  society,  and  as  the 
social  union  could  not  subsist  without  a  mutual  interchange 
of  good  offices,  would  it  not  be  reasonable  to  expect, 
agreeably  to  the  analogy  of  our  nature,  that  so  important 
an  end  would  not  be  intrusted  solely  to  the  slow  deduc- 
tions of  reason,  or  to  the  metaphysical  refinements  of  self- 
love,  but  that  some  provision  would  be  made  for  it,  in  a 
particular  class  of  active  principles,  which  might  operate, 
like  our  appetites  and  desires,  independently  of  our  re- 
flection ?  To  say  this  of  parental  affection  or  of  pity  is 
saying  nothing  more  in  their  favor  than  what  was  affirmed 
of  hunger  and  thirst,  that  they  prompt  us  to  particular 
objects  without  any  reference  to  our  own  enjoyment. 

I  have  not  offered  these  objections  to  the  selfish  theory 
with  any  view  of  exalting  our  natural  affections  into  vir- 
tues ;  for,  in  so  far  as  they  arise  from  original  constitution, 
they  confer  no  merit  whatever  on  the  individual  any  more 
than  his  appetites  or  desires.  At  the  same  time,  (as  Dr. 
Reid  has  observed,)  there  is  a  manifest  gradation  in  the 
sentiments  of  respect  with  which  -we  regard  these  different 
constituents  of  character. 

Our  desires,  (it  was  formerly  observed,)  although  not 
virtuous  in  themselves,  are  manly  and  respectable,  and 
plainly  of  greater  dignity  than  our  animal  appetites.  In 
like  manner  it  may  be  remarked  that  our  benevolent  affec- 
tions, although  not  meritorious,  are  highly  amiable.  A 
want  of  attention  to  the  essential  difference  between  the 
ideas  expressed  by  these  two  words  has  given  rise  to 
much  confusion  in  different  systems  of  moral  philoso- 
phy, more  particularly  in  the  systems  of  Shaftesbury  and 
Hutcheson. 

As  it  would  lead  me  into  too  minute  a  detail  to  consider 
our  different  benevolent  affections  separately,  I  shall  con- 
fine myself  to  a  few  detached  remarks  on  some  of  the 
most  important. 

The  first  place  is  undoubtedly  due  to  what  we  com- 
monly call  natural  affection,  including  under  the  term  the 
affections  of  parents  and  children,  and  those  of  other  near 
relations. 


58  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

SECTION  II. 

OF    THE    AFFECTIONS    OF    KINDRED. 

I.  The  Parental  Affection  common  to  Jlnimals  and 
Men.]  The  parental  affection  is  common  to  us  with 
most  of  the  brutes,  although  with  them  it  "is  variously 
modified  according  to  their  respective  natures,  and  ac- 
cording as  the  care  of  the  parent  is  more  or  less  necessary 
for  the  preservation  and  nurture  of  the  young.  Cicero 
remarks  that  this  is  no  more  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  that  beneficent  providence  everywhere  con- 
spicuous in  nature.  "  Hsec  inter  se  congruere  non  pos- 
sunt,  ut  natura  et  procreari  vellet  et  diligi  procreates  non 
curaret."*  —  "Commune  animantium  omnium  est  con- 
junctionis  appetitus,  et  cura  quaedam  eorum  quae  procreata 
sunt."f 

When  I  ascribe  parental  affection  to  our  own  species, 
I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  there  is  any  foundation  for 
those  stories  which  poets  have  feigned  of  particular  dis- 
criminating feelings  which  have  enabled  parents  and  chil- 
dren, after  a  long  absence,  or  when  they  have  never  met 
before,  mutually  to  recognize  each  other.  The  parental 
affection  takes  its  rise  from  a  knowledge  of  the  relation  in 
which  the  parties  stand,  and  it  is  very  powerfully  confirm- 
ed by  habit.  All  that  I  assert  is,  that  it  results  naturally 
from  that  knowledge,  and  from  the  habits  superinduced  by 
the  relation  which  the  parties  bear  to  each  other ;  in 
which  sense  it  may  be  justly  said,  (to  adopt  a  beautiful  and 
philosophical  expression  of  Dr.  Ferguson's,)  that  "  natural 
affection  springs  up  in  the  soul  as  the  milk  springs  in  the 
breast  of  the  mother. "|  Accordingly,  it  operates,  in  a 
great  measure,  independently  of  reflection  and  of  a  sense 
of  duty.  Reason,  indeed,  might  satisfy  a  man  that  his 
children  are  particularly  intrusted  to  his  care,  and  that  it 

*  De  Finibus,  III.  19.  "Nature  would  have  been  inconsistent  if  she 
had  intended  men  to  procreate,  without  providing  at  the  same  time  that 
they  should  love  their  offspring." 

t  De  Offlc.,  I.  4.  "  The  passion  which  unites  the  sexes,  and  a  certain 
affection  for  their  young,  are  common  to  all  animals." 

I  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Science,  Vol.  I.  p.  31. 


AFFECTIONS    OF    KINDRED.  59 

is  his  duty  to  rear  and  educate  them, — as  reason  might 
have  induced  him  to  eat  and  drink  without  the  appetites  of 
hunger  and  thirst ;  but  reason  cannot  create  an  affection 
any  more  than  an  appetite.  And,  considering  how  little 
the  conduct  of  mankind  is  in  general  influenced  by  a 
sense  of  duty,  there  are  good  grounds  for  thinking,  that, 
were  not  reason  in  this  case  aided  by  a  very  powerful 
implanted  principle,  a  very  small  proportion  out  of  the 
whole  number  of  children  brought  into  the  world  would 
arrive  at  maturity. 

How  much  this  affection  depends  upon  habit  appears 
from  this,  that,  when  the  care  of  a  child  is  devolved  upon 
one  who  is  not  its  parent,  the  parental  affection  is,  in  a 
great  measure,  transferred  along  with  it.  This  (as  Dr. 
Reid  observes)  is  plainly  "  the  work  of  nature,"  and  is  an 
additional  provision  made  by  her  for  the  continuation  and 
preservation  of  the  species. 

The  parental  affection,  as  we  have  hitherto  considered 
it,  is  common  to  both  sexes ;  but  it  cannot,  1  think,  be 
denied,  that  it  is  in  the  heart  of  the  mother  that  it  exists  in 
the  most  perfect  strength  and  beauty.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
think  that  those  have  gone  too  far  who  have  pronounced 
u  the  heart  of  a  good  mother  to  be  the  masterpiece  of  na- 
ture's icorks."  *  There  is  no  form,  certainly,  in  which 
humanity  appears  so  lovely,  or  presents  so  fair  a  copy  of 
the  Divine  image  after  which  it  was  made. 

II.  Jljfections  of  Kindred  the  Foundation  of  our  Social 
and  Political  Virtues.]  Nor  are  these  affections  of  par- 
ent and  child  useful  solely  for  the  preservation  of  the 
race.  They  form  the  heart  in  infancy  for  its  more  ex- 
tensive social  duties,  and  gradually  prepare  it  for  those 
affections  which  constitute  the  character  of  the  good 
citizen  ;  not  to  mention  that,  in  every  period  of  life,  it  is 
our  private  attachments  which  furnish  the  most  powerful 
of  all  incentives  to  patriotism  and  heroic  virtue.  Nothing, 
therefore,  could  be  more  unphilosophical  than  the  opinion 
of  Plato,  that  the  indulgence  of  the  domestic  charities 
unfitted  men  for  the  discharge  of  their  political  duties  ;  an 

% 
*  See  Marmontel,  Lemons  sur  la  Morale,  p.  132,  et  seq. 


60  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

opinion  which  he  carried  so  far  as  to  propose,  that,  as 
soon  as  a  child  was  born,  it  should  be  separated  from  its 
parents,  and  educated  ever  after  at  the  expense  of  the 
public.  It  has  been  often  observed  that  persons  brought 
up  in  foundling  hospitals  have  seldom  turned  out  well  in 
the  world  ;  and  although  I  doubt  not  that  various  splendid 
exceptions  to  this  proposition  may  be  quoted,  I  arn  inclin- 
ed to  think,  that,  if  the  special  accidents  connected  with 
these  exceptions  were  fully  known,  they  would  be  found, 
instead  of  invalidating,  to  confirm  the  general  rule.  One 
thing,  at  least,  is  obvious,  that,  in  that  best  of  all  educa- 
tions which  nature  has  provided  for  us  in  the  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances of  our  condition,  it  formed  an  important  part 
of  her  plan  to  soften  the  heart  betimes  amid  the  scenes  of 
domestic  life;  and,  accordingly,  it  is  under  the  shelter  of 
these  scenes  that  all  the  social  virtues  may  be  seen  to  shoot 
up  with  the  greatest  vigor  and  luxuriancy.  Even  the 
sterner  qualities  of  fortitude  and  bravery,  so  far  from  being 
inconsistent  with  a  warm  and  susceptible  heart,  are  almost 
its  inseparable  attendants,  insomuch  that  we  always  expect 
to  find  them  united.  How  true,  in  this  respect,  to  all  the 
best  feelings  of  our  nature,  is  the  beautiful  story  recorded 
of  Epaminondas,  that,  after  the  battle  of  Leuctra,  he 
thanked  the  gods  that  his  parents  still  survived  to  enjoy 
his  fame  ! 

It  is  remarked  by  Dr.  Beattie  that  Homer  and  Virgil, 
the  most  accurate  of  all  observers,  and  the  most  faithful  of 
all  painters  of  human  character,  always  unite  the  domestic 
attachments  with  the  more  splendid  virtue's  of  their  heroes. 
The  scene  between  Hector  and  Andromache,  and  the  in- 
terview between  Ulysses  and  his  father  after  an  absence 
of  twenty  years,  are  pronounced  by  the  same  excellent 
critic  to  be  the  finest  passages  in  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey. 
He  observes  further,  that,  in  the  portrait  of  Achilles,  his 
love  to  his  parents  forms  one  of  the  most  prominent  and 
distinguishing  features,  and  that  "this  single  circumstance 
throws  an  amiable  softness  into  the  most  terrific  human 
personage  that  was  ever  described  in  poetry."  How 
powerful  a  charm  the  ^Eneid  derives  from  the  same  source 
it  is  needless  to  mention,  as  it  is  the  chief  groundwork  of 
the  interest  inspired  by  the  whole  texture  of  the  fable.  In 


AFFECTIONS    OF    KINDRED.  61 

no  instance  is  it  more  affecting  than  in  the  address  of  Eu- 
ryalus  to  Nisus  before  they  set  out  on  their  desperate  ex- 
pedition by  night  ;  and,  I  believe,  few  will  deny  that  the 
pious  concern  which  he  expresses  for  his  aged  parent  in 
that  moment  of  approaching  peril  accords  perfectly  with 
the  gallantry  of  his  spirit,  and  interests  us  more  than  any 
thing  else  in  his  fortunes. 

"Contra  quern  talia  fatur 
Euryalua :  me  nulla  dies  tarn  fortibus  ausis 
Dissimilem  arguerit;  tantum  fortuna  secunda, 
Haud  adversa  cadat:  sed  te  super  omnia  dona, 
Unum  oro  :  genetrix  Priami  de  gente  vetusta 
Est  mihi,  quam  miseram  tenuit  non  Ilia  tellus, 
Mecuin  excedentem,  non  moenia  regis  Acesta?  : 
Hanc  ego  nunc  ignaram  hujus  quodcumque  pericli  est 
Inque  salutatam  linquo  nox,  et  tua  testis 
Dextera,  quod  nequeam  lacrymas  perferre  parentis. 
At  tu,  oro,  solare  inopetn,  et  succurre  relictse. 
Hanc  sine  me  spem  ferre  tui ;  audentior  ibo 
In  casus  omnes.     Percussa  inente  dederunt 
Dardanidas  lacrymas :  ante  omnes  pulcher  lulus, 
Atque  aniinum  patrise  strinxit  pietatis  imago."* 

I  shall  conclude  this  section  in  the  words  of  Lord  Ba- 

tJ,  Lib.  IX.  280. 

'"All  of  my  life,'  replies  the  youth,  'shall  aim, 
Like  this  one  hour,  at  everlasting  fame. 
Though  fortune  only  our  attempt  can  bless, 
Yet  still  my  courage  shall  deserve  success. 
But  one  reward  I  ask,  before  I  go, — 
The  greatest  I  can  ask,  or  you  bestow. 
My  mother,  —  tender,  pious,  fond,  and  good, 
Sprung,  like  thy  own,  from  Priam's  royal  blood,  — 
Such  was  her  love,  she  left  her  native  Troy, 
And  fair  Trinacria,  for  her  darling  boy; 
And  such  is  mine,  that  I  must  keep  unknown 
From  her  the  danger  of  so  dear  a  son  : 
To  spare  her  anguish,  lo  !  I  quit  the  place 
Without  one  parting  kiss,  one  last  embrace  ! 
By  night,  and  that  respected  hand,  I  swear, 
Her  melting  tears  are  more  than  1  can  bear  ! 
For  her,  good  prince,  your  pity  I  implore ; 
Support  her,  childless,  and  relieve  her,  poor ; 
O,  let  her,  let  her  find,  (when  I  am  gone,) 
In  you,  a  friend,  a  guardian,  and  a  son  ! 
With  that  dear  hope,  emboldened  shall  I  go, 
Brave  every  danger,  and  defy  the  foe.' 

"  Charmed  with  his  virtue  all  the  Trojan  peers, 
But,  more  than  all,  Ascanius  melts  in  tears, 
To"  see  the  sorrows  of  a  duteous  son 
And  filial  love,  a  love  so  like  his  own." 

6 


62  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

con  : —  "  Unmarried  men  are  best  friends,  best  masters, 
best  servants,  but  not  always  best  subjects,  for  they  are 
light  to  run  away,  and  almost  all  fugitives  are  of  that  con- 
dition. For  soldiers,  I  find  that  the  generals  in  their 
hortatives  commonly  put  men  in  mind  of  their  wives  and 
children  ;  and  I  think  the  despising  of  marriage  among  the 
Turks  maketh  the  vulgar  soldiers  the  more  base.  Cer- 
tainly, wife  and  children  are  a  kind  of  discipline  of  human- 
ity ;  and  single  men,  though  they  be  many  times  more 
charitable,  because  their  means  are  less  exhaust  ;  yet,  on 
the  other  side,  they  are  more  cruel  and  hard-hearted,  be- 
cause their  tenderness  is  not  so  often  called  upon."  * 

SECTION  III. 

OF      FRIENDSHIP. 

I.  Pleasures  of  Friendship.']  Friendship,  like  all  the 
other  benevolent  affections,  includes  two  things,  an  agreea- 
ble feeling,  and  a  desire  of  happiness  to  its  object. 

Besides,  however,  the  agreeable  feeling  common  to  all 
the  exertions  of  benevolence,  there  are  some  peculiar  to 
friendship.  I  before  took  notice  of  the  pleasure  we  de- 
rive from  communicating  our  thoughts  and  our  feelings  to 
others  ;  but  this  communication  prudence  and  propriety 
restrain  us  from  making  to  strangers  ;  and  hence  the  satis- 
faction we  enjoy  in  the  society  of  one  to  whom  we  can 
communicate  every  circumstance  in  our  situation,  and  can 
trust  every  secret  of  our  heart. 

There  is  also  a  wonderful  pleasure  arising  from  the 
sympathy  of  our  fellow-creatures  with  our  joys  and  with 
our  sorrows,  nay,  even  with  our  tastes  and  our  humors  ; 
but,  in  the  ordinary  commerce  of  the  world,  we  are  often 
disappointed  in  our  expectations  of  this  enjoyment  ;  a  dis- 
appointment which  is  peculiarly  incident  to  men  of  genius 
and  sensibility  superior  to  the  common,  who  frequently 
feel  themselves  "  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,"  and  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  accommodating  their  own  tem- 
per, and  their  own  feelings,  to  a  standard  borrowed  from 

*  Bacon's  Essays.     Of  Marriage  and  Single  Life. 


FRIENDSHIP.  63 

those  whom  they  cannot  help  thinking  undeserving  of  such 
a  sacrifice. 

It  is  only  in  the  society  of  a  friend  that  this  sympathy 
is  at  all  times  to  be  found  ;  and  the  pleasing  reflection,  that 
we  have  it  in  our  power  to  command  so  exquisite  a  gratifi- 
cation, constitutes,  perhaps,  tHe  principal  charm  of  this 
connection.  "  What  we  call  affection,"  says  Mr.  Smith, 
"is  nothing  but  an  habitual  sympathy."  I  will  not  go 
quite  so  far  as  to  adopt  this  proposition  in  all  its  latitude, 
but  I  perfectly  agree  with  this  profound  and  amiable 
moralist  in  thinking,  that  the  experience  of  this  sympathy 
is  the  chief  foundation  of  friendship,  and  one  of  the  princi- 
pal sources  of  the  pleasures  which  it  yields.  Nor  is  it  at 
all  inconsistent  with  this  observation  to  remark,  that,  where 
the  groundwork  of  two  characters  in  point  of  moral  worth 
is  the  same,  there  is  sometimes  a  contrast  in  the  secondary 
qualities,  of  taste,  of  intellectual  accomplishments,  and 
even  of  animal  spirits,  which,  instead  of  presenting  ob- 
stacles to  friendship,  has  a  tendency  to  bind  more  strongly 
the  knot  of  mutual  attachment  between  the  parties.  Two 
very  interesting  and  memorable  examples  of  this  may  be 
found  in  Cuvier's  account  of  the  friendship  between  Buffbn 
and  Daubenton,*  and  in  Playfair's  account  of  the  friend- 
ship between  Black  and  Hutton.f 

I  do  not,  mean  here  to  enter  into  the  consideration  of 
the  various'  topics  relating  to  friendship  which  are  com- 
monly discussed  by  writers  on  that  subject.  JMost  of 
these,  indeed  I  may  say  all  of  them,  are  beautifully  illus- 
trated by  Cicero  in  the  treatise  De  •£m*ctiia,  in  which  he 
has  presented  us  with  a  summary  of  all  that  was  most 
valuable  on  this  article  of  ethics  in  the  writings  of  preced- 
ing philosophers  ;  and  so  comprehensive  is  the  view  of  it 
which  he  has  taken,  that  the  modern  authors  who  have 
treated  of  it  have  done  little  more  than  to  repeat  his  ob- 
servations. 

II.  Can  Friendship  subsist  between  more  than  Two 
Persons  ?]  One  question  concerning  friendship  much  agi- 

*  Rcr.ucil  UPS  Eloges  Historiquts.     M.  Daubenton. 

t  Biographical  Account  of  the  late  Dr.  James  Hutton.   Works,  Vol.  IV. 


61  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

tated  in  the  ancient  schools  was,  whether  this  connection 
can  subsist  in  its  full  perfection  between  more  than  two 
persons  ;  —  and  I  believe  it  was  the  common  decision  of 
antiquity  that  it  cannot.  For  my  own  part  I  can  see  no 
foundation  for  this  limitation,  and  I  own  it  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  suggested  more  by  the  dreams  of  romance,  or 
the  fables  of  ancient  mythology,  than  by  good  sense  or  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  mankind.  The  passion  of  love 
between  the  sexes  is  indeed  of  an  exclusive  nature  ;  and 
the  jealousy  of  the  one  party  is  roused  the  moment  a  sus- 
picion arises  that  the  attachment  of  the  other  is  in  any  de- 
gree divided  ;  (and,  by  the  way,  this  circumstance,  which 
I  think  is  strongly  characteristical  of  that  connection,  de- 
serves to  be  added  to  the  various  other  considerations 
which  show  that  monogamy  has  a  foundation  in  human 
nature.)  But  the  feelings  of  friendship  are  perfectly  of  a 
different  sort.  If  our  friend  is  a  man  of  discernment,  we 
rejoice  at  every  new  acquisition  he  makes,  as  it  affords 
us  an  opportunity  of  adding  to  our  own  list  of  worthy 
and  amiable  individuals,  and  we  eagerly  concur  with  him 
in  promoting  the  interests  of  those  who  are  dear  to  his 
heart.  When  we  ourselves,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
made  a  new  discovery  of  worth  and  genius,  how  do  we 
long  to  impart  the  same  satisfaction  to  a  friend,  and  to  be 
instrumental  in  bringing  together  the  various  ^respectable 
and  worthy  men  whom  the  accidents  of  life  have  thrown  in 
our  way  ! 

I  acknowledge,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  number  of 
our  attached  and  confidential  friends  cannot  be  great, 
otherwise  our  attention  would  be  too  much  distracted  by 
the  multiplicity  of  its  objects,  and  the  views  for  which 
this  affection  of  the  mind  was  probably  implanted  would 
be  frustrated  by  its  engaging  us  in  exertions  beyond  the 
extent  of  our  limited  abilities  ;  and,  accordingly,  nature 
has  made  a  provision  for  preventing  this  inconvenience,  by 
rendering  friendship  the  fruit  only  of  long  and  intimate  ac- 
quaintance. It  is  strengthened  not  only  by  the  acquaint- 
ance which  the  parties  have  with  each  other's  personal 
qualities,  but  with  their  histories,  situations,  and  connections 
from  infancy,  and  every  particular  of  this  sort  which  falls 
under  their  mutual  knowledge  forms  to  the  fancy  an  addi- 


FRIENDSHIP.  65 

tional  relation  by  which  they  are  united.  Men  who  have 
a  very  wide  circle  of  friends,  without  much  discrimination 
or  preference,  are  justly  suspected  of  being  incapable  of 
genuine  friendship,  and  indeed  are  generally  men  of  cold 
and  selfish  characters,  who  are  influenced  chiefly  by  a 
cool  and  systematical  regard  to  their  own  comfort,  and 
who  value  the  social  intercourse  of  life  only  as  it  is  subser- 
vient to  their  accommodation  and  amusement. 

III.  How  we  arc,  affected  by  the  Distresses  of  our 
Friends.]  That  the  affection  of  friendship  includes  a  de- 
sire of  happiness  to  the  beloved  object  it  is  unnecessary 
to  observe.  There  is,  however,  a  certain  limitation  of 
the  remark,  which  occurs  among  the  Maxims  of  La  Roche- 
foucauld, and  which  has  been  often  repeated  since  by 
misanthropical  moralists,  "  That,  in  the  distresses  of  our 
best  friends,  there  is  always  something  which  does  not  dis- 
please us."  It  may  be  proper  to  consider  in  what  sense 
this  is  to  be  understood,  and  how  far  it  has  a  foundation  in 
truth.  It  is  expressed  in  somewhat  equivocal  terms  ;  and, 
I  suspect,  owes  much  of  its  plausibility  to  this  very  cir- 
cumstance. 

From  the  triumphant  air  with  which  the  maxim  in  ques- 
tion has  been  generally  quoted  by  the  calumniators  of 
human  nature,  it  has  evidently  been  supposed  by  them  to 
imply  that  the  misfortunes  of  our  best  friends  give  us  more 
pleasure  than  pain.*  But  this  La  Rochefoucauld  has  not 
said,  nor  indeed  could  a  proposition  so  obviously  false  and 
extravagant  have  escaped  the  pen  of  so  acute  a  writer. 
What  La  Rochefoucauld  has  said  amounts  only  to  this, 
that,  in  the  distresses  of  our  best  friends,  the  pain  we  feel 
is  not  altogether  unmixed  ;  —  a  proposition  unquestionably 
true,  wherever  we  have  an  opportunity  of  soothing  their 
sorrows  by  the  consolations  of  sympathy,  or  of  evincing, 
by  more  substantial  services,  the  sincerity  and  strength  of 

*  It  was  plainly  in  this  sense  that  Swift  understood  it  when  he  pre- 
fixed it  as  a  motto  to  the  verses  on  his  own  death. 

"  As  Rochefoucauld  his  maxims  drew 
From  nature,  I  believe  them  true. 
If  what  he  says  be  not  a  joke, 
We  mortals  are  strange  kind  of  folk." 

6* 


66  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

our  attachment.  But  the  pleasure  we  experience  in  such 
cases,  so  far  from  indicating  any  thing  selfish  or  malevo- 
lent in  the  heart,  originates  in  principles  of  a  directly 
opposite  description,  and  will  be  always  most  pure  and 
exquisite  in  the  most  disinterested  and  generous  characters. 
The  maxim,  indeed,  when  thus  interpreted,  is  not  less 
true  when  applied  to  our  own  distresses  than  to  those  of 
our  friends.  In  the  bitterest  cup  that  may  fall  to  the  lot 
of  either  there  are  always  mingled  some  cordial  drops,  — 
in  the  misfortunes  of  others,  the  consolation  of  administer- 
ing relief,  —  in  our  own,  that  of  receiving  it  from  the  sym- 
pathy of  those  we  love. 

Whether  La  Rochefoucauld,  in  the  satirical  humor 
which  dictated  the  greater  part  of  his  maxims,  did  not 
wish,  in  the  present  instance,  to  convey  by  his  words  a 
little  more  than  meets  the  ear,  I  do  not  presume  to  de- 
termine. 

SECTION  IV. 

OF      PATRIOTISM. 

I.  Provision  made  for  a  Division  of  Mankind  into 
distinct  Communities.]  Notwithstanding  the  principles  of 
union  implanted  by  nature  in  the  human  breast,  it  was 
plainly  not  her  intention  that  society  should  always  go  on 
increasing  in  numbers.  A  foundation  is  laid  for  a  divis- 
ion of  mankind  into  distinct  communities,  in  those  natural 
divisions  on  the  surface  of  the  globe  that  are  formed  by 
chains  of  mountains,  impassable  rivers,  and  the  oceans 
which  separate  the  larger  continents  ;  and  the  same  end 
is  further  answered  by  those  principles  of  enmity  which, 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  society,  never  fail  to  estrange 
neighbouring  tribes  from  each  other,  and  which  continue 
to  operate  with  a  very  powerful  effect  even  in  periods  of 
knowledge  and  refinement. 

I  shall  not  at  present  attempt  to  analyze  particularly 
the  origin  of  these  principles  of  disunion  among  mankind. 
I  shall  only  remark,  that  they  do  not  imply  any  original 
malignity  in  the  human  heart  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  seem 
to  have  their  source  in  the  social  nature  of  man, — in 


PATRIOTISM.  67 

those  affections  which  attach  him  to  the  tribe  he  belongs 
to,  and  to  the  country  which  gave  him  birth.  This  remark 
has  been  so  excellently  illustrated  by  Lord  Shaftesbury 
and  by  Dr.  Ferguson,  that  it  would  be  quite  superfluous 
to  enlarge  upon  it  here.  Contenting  myself,  therefore, 
with  a  reference  to  their  works,*  I  shall  proceed  to  some 
other  views  of  the  subject,  where  the  field  of  observation 
does  not  seem  to  be  so  completely  exhausted. 

The  foundation  which  nature  has  laid  for  a  diversity  of 
languages,  of  customs,  of  manners,  and  of  institutions 
among  mankind  adds  force  to  the  principles  of  division 
and  repulsion  already  mentioned.  These  circumstances 
derive  their  effect,  indeed,  from  the  ignorance  of  men, 
which  is  apt  to  mistake  a  diversity  of  arbitrary  signs  and 
arbitrary  ceremonies  for  a  diversity  of  opinions  and  of 
moral  sentiments  ;  and,  accordingly,  as  society  advances, 
and  reason  improves,  the  effect  becomes  gradually  less 
and  less  sensible.  As  the  effect,  however,  is  universal 

*  See  Shaftesbtiry's  Essay  on  the  Freedom  of  Wit  and  Humor,  Part 
III.  Sect.  2,  and  Ferguson's  Essay  on  the  History  of  Civil  Society,  Part 
I.  Sect.  4.  The  former  observes  :  —  "It  is  strange  to  imagine  that  war, 
which  of  all  things  appears  the  most  savage,  should  be  the  passion  of 
the  most  heroic  spirits.  But  it  is  in  war  that  the  knot  of  fellowship  is 
closest  drawn.  It  is  in  war  that  mutual  succour  is  most  given,  mutual 
danger  run,  and  common  affection  most  exerted  and  employed.  For 
heroism  and  philanthropy  are  almost  one  and  the  same.  Yet,  by  a  small 
misguidance  of  the  affection,  a  lover  of  mankind  becomes  a  ravager ;  a 
hero  and  deliverer  becomes  an  oppressor  and  destrover."  "  Vast  em- 
pires are  in  many  respects  unnatural ;  but  particularly  in  this,  that,  be 
they  ever  so  well  constituted,  the  affairs  of  many  must  in  such  govern- 
ments turn  upon  a  very  few;  and  the  relation  be  less  sensible,  and  in  a 
manner  lost,  between  the  magistrate  and  people,  in  a  body  so  unwieldy 
in  its  limbs,  and  whose  members  lie  so  remote  from  one  another,  and 
distant  from  the  head.  It  is  in  such  bodies  as  these  that  strong  factions 
are  aptest  to  engender.  The  associating  spirits,  for  want  of  exercise, 
form  new  movements,  and  seek  a  narrower  sphere  of  activity,  when 
they  want  action  in  a  greater.  Thus  we  have  wheels  within  wheels. 
And  in  some  national  constitutions,  (notwithstanding  the  absurdity  in 
politics,)  we  have  one  empire  within  another.  Nothing  is  so  delightful 
as  to  incorporate."  In  the  same  strain  Ferguson  :  —  "  The  titles  of  fel- 
low-citizen and  countryman,  unopposed  by  those  of  alien  and  foreigner, 
to  which  they  refer,  would  fall  into  disuse,  and  lose  their  meaning. 
We  love  individuals  on  account  of  personal  qualities;  but  we  love  our 
country,  as  it  is  a  party  in  the  divisions  of  mankind  ;  and  our  zeal  for 
its  interest  is  a  predilection  in  behalf  of  the  side  we  maintain."  *' '  My 
father,'  said  a  Spanish  peasant,  '  would  rise  from  his  grave,  if  be  could 
foresee  a  war  with  France.'  What  interest  had  he,  or  the  bones  of  his 
father,  in  the  quarrels  of  princes :  " 


63  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

among  rude  nations,  and  as  it  is  the  unavoidable  result  of 
the  general  laws  of  our  constitution  when  placed  in  certain 
circumstances,  we  may  consider  it  as  a  part  of  the  plan 
of  Providence  with  respect  to  our  species  ;  and  we  may 
presume  that  here,  as  in  other  instances,  that  plan  tends 
ultimately  to  some  wise  and  beneficent  purpose,  though 
by  means  which  appear  to  us,  at  first  view,  to  have  a  very 
unfavorable  aspect.  What  these  purposes  are  it  is  im- 
possible for  our  limited  faculties  to  trace  completely  ;  but 
even  we,  narrow  and  partial  as  our  views  at  present  are, 
may  perceive  some  salutary  consequences  resulting  from 
these  apparent  disorders  of  the  moral  world.  I  shall  only 
mention  the  tendency  which  a  constant  state  of  hostility 
and  alarm  must  have  among  barbarous  tribes  to  bind  and 
consolidate  in  each  of  them  apart  the  political  union  ;  and, 
by  strengthening  the  hands  of  government,  to  prepare  the 
way  for  the  progress  of  society.  We  may  add,  the  ex- 
ercise which  it  gives  to  many  of  our  most  important  moral 
principles,  and  the  powerful  stimulus  it  applies  to  our 
intellectual  capacities.  The  discipline  is  indeed  rough, 
but  it  is  perhaps  the  only  one  of  which  the  mind  of  man, 
•in  a  certain  state  of  his  progress,  is  susceptible. 

TT.  Tendency  of  Civilization  to  diminish  the  Causes  of 
Disunion.]  If  these  observations  are  well  founded,  may 
we  not  presume  to  offer  a  conjecture,  that,  as  this  final 
cause  ceases  to  exist  in  proportion  as  government  ad- 
vances to  maturity,  and  as  the  moral  causes  of  hostility 
among  nations  (arising  from  diversity  of  language  and  of 
manners)  cease  to  operate  upon  men  of  enlightened  and 
liberal  minds,  the  tendency  of  civilized  society  is  to  di- 
minish the  dissensions  among  different  communities,  and 
to  unite  the  human  race  in  the  bonds  of  amity  ?  The  just 
views  of  political  economy  which  Mr.  Smith  and  some 
other  authors  have  lately  opened,  and  which  demonstrate 
the  absurdity  of  commercial  jealousies,  all  contribute  to 
encourage  the  same  pleasing  prospects  ;  but  alas  !  it  is  a 
prospect  which  the  vices  and  prejudices  of  men  allow  us 
to  indulge  only  in  those  moments  of  enthusiasm  when  our 
benevolent  wishes  for  mankind,  and  our  confidence  in  the 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  Providence,  transport  us  from 


PATRIOTISM.  69 

the  calamities  and  atrocities  of  our  own  times,  to  antici- 
pate the  triumphs  of  reason  and  humanity  in  a  more  fortu- 
nate age. 

In  my  Philosophy  of  the  Human  J\lind  I  have  remark- 
ed, that  "  there  are  many  prejudices  which  are  found  to 
prevail  universally  among  our  species  in  certain  periods  of 
society,  and  which  seem  to  be  essentially  necessary  for 
maintaining  its  order  in  ages  when  men  are  unable  to  com- 
prehend the  purposes  for  which  governments  are  insti- 
tuted. As  society  advances,  these  prejudices  gradually 
lose  their  influence  on  the  higher  classes,  and  would 
probably  soon  disappear  altogether,  if  it  were  not  supposed 
to  be  expedient  to  prolong  their  existence  as  a  source 
of  authority  over  the  multitude.  In  an  age,  however,  of 
universal  and  unrestrained  discussion,  it  is  impossible  that 
they  can  long  maintain  their  empire  ;  nor  ought  we  to 
regret  their  decline,  if  the  important  ends  to  which  they 
have  been  subservient  in  the  past  experience  of  mankind 
are  found  to  be  accomplished  by  the  growing  light  of 
philosophy.  On  this  supposition  a  history  of  human  preju- 
dices, in  so  far  as  they  have  supplied  the  place  of  more 
enlarged  political  views,  may,  at  some  future  period,  fur- 
nish to  the  philosopher  a  subject  of  speculation  no  less 
pleasing  and  instructive  than  that  beneficent  wisdom  of 
nature  which  guides  the  operations  of  the  lower  animals, 
and  which,  even  in  our  own  species,  takes  upon  itself  the 
care  of  the  individual  in  the  infancy  of  human  reason."  * 

The  remarks  which  have  been  now  made  on  the 
sources  of  disunion  and  hostility  among  mankind  in  the 
earlier  periods  of  society,  and  on  the  final  causes  to  which 
this  constitution  of  things  is  subservient,  afford  one  re- 
markable illustration  of  the  conjecture  which  I  have  haz- 
arded in  the  foregoing  passage. 

Before  proceeding  to  consider  the  affection  of  patriot- 
ism, it  was  necessary  to  turn  our  attention  for  a  moment  to 
the  principles  of  disunion  in  our  species,  as  the  idea  of 
patriotism  proceeds  on  the  supposition,  that  mankind  are 
divided  into  distinct  communities,  with  separate,  if  not 
with  rival  and  hostile  interests. 

_ X 

*  Part  I.  Chap.  iv.  Sect,  viii. 


70  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

III.  Exciting  Causes  of  Patriotism.^  The  exciting 
causes  of  patriotism  (abstracting  from  all  considerations 
of  reason  and  duty)  are  many.  We  are  formed  with  so 
strong  a  disposition  to  associate  with  and  to  love  our  own 
species,  that  the  imagination  lays  hold  with  eagerness  of 
every  circumstance,  how  slight  soever,  that  can  form  a 
bond  of  union;  a  common  language,  a  common  religion, 
common  laws,  even  a  common  appellation,  —  not  to  men- 
tion the  prudential  considerations  of  common  enemies  and 
a  common  interest.  The  feelings  which  these  uniting  cir- 
cumstances inspire  attach  us  even  to  the  territory  which 
our  fellow-citizens  inhabit,  by  the  same  law  of  association 
that  endears  to  us  the  spot  where  a  friend  was  born,  or 
the  scene  where  we  have  enjoyed  any  social  pleasure  ; 
and  thus  the  imagination  forms  to  itself  a  complex  idea  of 
countrymen  and  country,  which  impresses  every  suscepti- 
ble heart  with  irresistible  force.  In  perusing  the  history 
of  either,  how  remote  soever  the  period  it  describes  may 
be,  we  feel  an  interest  which  no  other  narrative  inspires. 
We  sympathize  with  the  fortunes  of  those  who  trod  the 
same  ground  that  we  now  tread,  and  we  appropriate  to 
ourselves  a  share  of  the  glory  they  acquired  by  their 
bravery  and  virtue.  "  When  the  late  Mr.  Anson  (Lord 
Anson's  brother)  was  on  his  travels  in  the  East,  he  hired  a 
vessel  to  visit  the  Isle  of  Tenedos.  His  pilot,  an  old 
Greek,  as  they  were  sailing  along,  said  with  some  satisfac- 
tion, '  'T  was  there  our  fleet  lay.'  Mr.  Anson  demanded, 
'  What  fleet  ?  '  '  Whatfleel ! '  replied  the  old  man,  a  little 
piqued  at  the  question,  '  why,  our  Grecian  fleet  at  the  siege 
of  Troy."  This  anecdote,  (which  I  borrow  from  the 
Philological  Inquiries  of  Mr.  Harris,*)  naturally  excites 
a  smile  ;  but  it  is,  at  the  sams  time,  so  congenial  to  feel- 
ings inseparable  from  our  constitution,  that  its  effect  seems 
to  me  to  border  on  the  pathetic,  and  I  presume  there  are 
few  who  have  read  it  without  some  emotion. 

It  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  with  respect  to  this  natural 
attachment  to  the  scenes  of  our  infancy  and  youth,  that  it 
is  commonly  strongest  among  the  inhabitants  of  barren  and 
mountainous  countries.  This  would  appear  to  indicate 

*  Part  III.  Chap.  v. 


PATRIOTISM.  71 

that  it  is  produced  less  by  the  recollection  of  agreeable 
physical  impressions  than  of  moral  pleasures,  — pleasures 
which  probably  derive  an  additional  zest  from  the  absence 
of  those  interesting  or  amusing  objects  which  dissipate  the 
attention  by  inviting  the  thoughts  abroad.  Where  nature 
has  been  sparing  in  her  external  bounty,  men  become  the 
more  dependent  for  their  happiness  on  internal  enjoyment ; 
it  is  thus  that  the  storms  and  gloom  of  winter  give  a  higher 
relish  to  the  pleasures  of  society.  Perhaps,  too,  the  thin 
and  scattered  population  of  such  countries  may  contribute 
something  to  the  romantic  enthusiasm  of  the  domestic  and 
private  attachments,  as  it  is  certain  that  the  opposite  ex- 
treme of  a  crowded  and  busy  population  seldom  fails  to 
extinguish  all  the  more  ardent  social  affections.  Among 
the  inhabitants  of  Europe  this  attachment  to  home  is  said 
to  be  the  most  remarkable  in  the  Swiss  and  the  Lap- 
landers, who,  when  removed  to  a  distance  from  their  na- 
tive scenes,  are  subject  to  a  particular  species  of  de- 
spondency, to  which  medical  writers  have  given  the  name 
of  nostalgia.  It  is  thus  described  by  Haller,  who  was 
himself  a  native  of  Switzerland,  and  who,  in  some  of  his 
poetical  pieces,  composed  during  the  period  of  his  aca- 
demical studies  in  Holland,  has  sufficiently  shown  that  his 
own  heart  was  not  proof  against  its  influence. 

"  Nostalgia  genus  est  moeroris  subditis  reipublicae  mea3 
familiaris,  etiam  civibus,  a  desiderio  nati  suorum.  Is  sen- 
sim  consumit  asgros  et  destruit,  nonnunquam  in  rigorem  et 
maniam  abit,  alias  in  febres  lentas.  Eum  spes  sanat. 
Etiam  animalia  consueta  societate  privata,  nonnunquam  de- 
pere!int,  et  ex  pullis  amissis  etiam  lutras  maris  Kamtschada- 
lensis.  Sic  ex  amore  frustrate  lenta  et  insanabilis  con- 
sumptio  sequitur,  quod  Angli  cor  ruptum  vocant."* 

We  are  informed  by  another  medical  writer,  (Sauvages,) 
that  he  has  known  this  disorder  in  the  son  of  a  common 

*  Elem.  PfiysioL,  Lib.  XVII.  Sect.  2,  §  5.  "Nostalgia  is  a  malady 
common  among  my  countrymen,  originating  in  a  longing  for  home.  It 
gradually  consumes  and  wears  out  the  patient,  sometimes  going  off  in 
chills  and  mania,  sometimes  in  a  slow  fever.  Hope  cures  it.  Even 
animals,  when  deprived  of  their  accustomed  companions,  will  some- 
times die  ;  as  is  the  case  with  the  sea-otter  of  Kamlschatka  when  bereft 
of  her  young.  So,  likewise,  a  lingering  and  incurable  consumption  fol- 
lows disappointed  love,  which  the  English  call  a  broken  heart." 


72  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

beggar,  who  could  scarcely  be  said  to  have  any  home  but 
the  streets  and  public  roads.* 

"Thus  every  good  his  native  wilds  impart 
Imprints  the  patriot  passion  on  his  heart. 
And  even  the  ills  that  round  his  mansion  rise 
Enhance  the  bliss  his  scanty  fund  supplies. 
Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 
And  dear  that  hill  that  lifts  him  to  the  storms. 
And  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest, 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  its  mother's  breast, 
So  the  loud  tempest  and  the  whirlwind's  roar 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more."  t 

The  sources  of  patriotism  hitherto  mentioned  arise 
chiefly  from  the  imagination  and  from  the  association  of 
ideas,  and  have  little  or  no  connection  with  our  rational 
and  moral  powers.  They  presuppose,  indeed,  sensibility, 
social  attachment,  and  force  of  mind,  but  they  do  not 
necessarily  imply  reflection  or  a  sense  of  duty.  They  are 
the  natural  result  of  our  constitution  when  placed  in  cer- 
tain circumstances  ;  and  hence,  though  not  coeval  with 
our  birth,  nor  after  their  appearance  unsusceptible  of 
analysis,  the  affection  they  produce,  in  so  far  as  it  arises 
from  them  without  the  cooperation  of  any  other  motive, 
may  be  considered  as  a  blind  impulse,  analogous  in  its 
operation  to  those  desires  and  appetites  which  have  been 
already  mentioned.  This  affection  may  be  called,  for  the 
sake  of  distinction,  instinctive  patriotism. 

IV.  Patriotism  in  Small  and  in  Large  Countries.] 
The  circumstances  which  have  been  enumerated  as  the 
sources  of  instinctive  patriotism  operate  with  peculiar  force 
in  small  communities,  where  the  extent  of  the  territory 
and  the  body  of  the  people,  falling  under  the  habitual 
observation  of  every  citizen,  present  more  definite  objects 
to  the  imagination,  and  affect  the  heart  more  deeply  than 
what  is  only  conceived  from  description.  Here,  too,  the 
individual  feels  his  importance  as  an  active  member  of  the 
state,  and  the  consciousness  of  what  he  is  able  to  do  for 
its  prosperity  contributes  powerfully  to  promote  his  patri- 
otic exertions. 

*  Nosolosia  Methodica.  t  Goldsmith's  Traveller. 


PATRIOTISM.  73 

In  an  extensive  and  populous  country  the  instinctive 
affection  of  patriotism  is  apt  to  grow  languid  among  the 
mass  of  the  people,  and  therefore  it  becomes  the  more 
necessary  to  impress  on  their  minds  those  considerations 
of  reason  and  duty  which  recommend  public  spirit  as  one 
of  the  principal  branches  of  morality.  What  these  con- 
siderations are  I  shall  afterwards  endeavour  to  point  out 
in  treating  of  the  duties  we  owe  to  our  fellow-creatures. 
At  present  I  shall  only  remark,  that,  a?  instinctive  patriot- 
ism decays,  so  rational  patriotism  acquires  force,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  extent  of  territory  and  to  the  muhitude-of 
fellow-citizens  it  embraces  ;  in  other  words,  in  proportion 
to  the  magnitude  of  that  sum  of  happiness  which  it  aspires 
to  secure  and  to  augment. 

Such  considerations,  however,  can  have  weight  only 
with  men  whose  sense  of  duty  is  strong  ;  and  as,  un- 
fortunately, this  is  not  the  case  with  a  great  proportion  of 
mankind,  it  is  of  the  utmost  consequence,  in  every  state 
of  society,  to  cherish  as  much  as  possible  the  instinctive 
affection  of  patriotism,  and  to  counteract  those  causes  that 
tend  to  extinguish  it.  For  this  purpose  nothing  is  more 
likely  to  be  effectual  than  to  diffuse  a  general  taste  for 
historical  and  geographical  reading.  A  peasant  who  has 
never  extended  his  thoughts  beyond  his  own  province, 
and  who  sees  every  thing  flourishing  and  happy  around 
him,  is  apt  to  consider  the  enjoyments  he  possesses  as 
inseparable  from  the  human  race,  and  no  more  connected 
with  any  particular  system  of  laws  than  the  advantages  he 
derives  from  the  immediate  bounty  of  nature.  It  is  the 
study  of  history  and  geography  alone  that  can  remove  this 
prejudice,  by  showing  us,  on  the  one  hand,  the  narrow 
limits  within  which  the  political  happiness  of  our  species 
has  hitherto  been  confined,  and,  on  the  other,  the  singular 
combination  of  accidental  circumstances  to  which  we  are 
indebted  for  the  blessings  we  enjoy.  This  effect  of  histo- 
ry, indeed,  tends  rather  to  cherish  rational  than  instinctive 
patriotism  ;  but  it  operates  also  wonderfully  on  the  latter 
affection,  by  leading  us  to  contrast  our  own  country  and 
countrymen  with  other  lands  and  other  nations,  and  there- 
by presenting  a  more  definite  and  interesting  object  to  the 
imagination  and  to  the  heart.  When,  from  the  transac- 
7 


74  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

tions  of  past  ages  and  of  foreign  lands,  we  return  to  what 
is  near  and  familiar,  we  are  affected  somewhat  in  the  same 
manner  as  if  we  met  with  a  fellow-citizen  in  a  distant 
country.  Absence  from  home  never  fails  to  endear  it  to 
a  mind  possessed  of  any  sensibility.  The  extent  of  our 
country,  too,  seems  to  diminish  to  our  intellectual  eye  in 
proportion  as  the  object  recedes  from  us,  and  we  feel  a 
sensible  relation  to  what  we  before  regarded  with  complete 
indifference.  The  natives  of  the  same  county  in  Scotland 
feel  towards  each  other  a  partial  predilection  when  they 
meet  in  the  metropolis  of  Great  Britain  ;  and  the  circum- 
stance of  being  born  in  this  island  forms  a  tie  of  friendship 
between  individuals  in  the  other  quarters  of  the  globe. 
The  study  of  history  operates  somewhat  in  the  same 
manner,  though  not  perhaps  in  the  same  degree.  By 
transporting  us  in  imagination  over  the  surface  of  this 
planet,  and  by  assembling  before  our  view  the  myriads 
who  have  occupied  it  before  us,  it  serves  to  define  to  our 
thoughts  more  distinctly  the  particular  community  to  which 
we  belong,  and  strengthens  the  bond  of  relationshjp  that 
unites  us  to  all  its  members. 

I  shall  only  add  further  on  this  subject,  that,  when  the 
extent  and  population  of  a  country  are  so  very  great  as  to 
give  it  a  decided  preeminence  among  neighbouring  nations, 
it  has  a  tendency  to  produce  (partly  by  interesting  the 
vanity,  and  partly  by  dazzling  the  imagination)  an  attach- 
ment to  national  glory,  which  operates  bolh  on  the  vulgar 
and  on  men  of  better  education  in  a  way  extremely  analo- 
gous to  the  instinctive  patriotism  felt  by  the  member  of  a 
small  community.  A  remarkable  instance  of  this  occurred 
in  the  national  character  of  the  French  prior  to  the  late 
revolution,  nor  does  it  seem  to  have  altered  in  this  re- 
spect since  that  event,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  indigna- 
tion with  which  the  idea  of  a  confederate  republic  has 
always  been  received.  A«  feeling  of  the  same  kind  may 
be  traced  in  various  expressions  employed  by  Livy  in  the 
preface  to  his  Roman  History,  "  Utcunque  erit,  juvabit 
tamen  rerum  gestarum  memoriae  principis  terrarum  populi, 
pro  virili  parte,  et  ipsum  consuluisse  ;  et  si  in  tanta  scrip- 
torum  turba  mea  fama  in  obscuro  sit,  nobilitate  ac  magni- 
tudine  eorum  qui  nomini  efficient  meo  me  consoler.  Res 


PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED.  75 

est  praeterea  et  immensi  operis,  ut  quae  supra  septingente- 
simum  annum  repetatur,  et  quae  ab  exiguis  profecta  initiis 
eo  creverit,  ut  jam  magnitudine  laboret  sua  :  et  legentium 
plerisque  baud  dubito,  quin  primae  origines  proximaque 
originibus,  minus  praebitura  voluptatis  sint,  festinantibus  ad 
hsec  nova,  quibus  jampridem  praevalentis  populi  vires  se 
ipsae  conficiunt."*  The  very  danger  which  such  an 
empire  was  exposed  to  from  its  enormous  magnitude,  and 
from  the  seeds  of  destruction  which  it  carried  in  its  bosom, 
seems  to  heighten  the  patriotic  affection  of  the  historian, 
by  awakening  an  anxious  -solicitude  for  its  impending  fate. 
The  contrast  between  this  feeling  of  national  pride,  and  a 
melancholy  anticipation  of  those  calamities  to  which  na- 
tional greatness  leads,  gives  the  principal  charm  to  this 
exquisite  composition. 

' 


SECTION    IV. 

OF    PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED. 

I.  Office  and  important  Uses  of  Compassion.]  As  the 
unfortunate  chiefly  stand  in  need  of  our  assistance,  so  there 
is  provided  in  every  breast  a  most  powerful  advocate  in 
their  favor  ;  an  advocate,  to  whose  solicitations  it  is  im- 
possible even  for  the  most  obdurate  to  turn  always  a  deaf 
ear.  The  appropriation  of  the  word  humanity  to  this 
part  of  our  constitution  affords  sufficient  evidence  of  the 
common  sentiments  of  mankind  upon  the  subject. 

*  "However  that  may  be,  I  shall  at  all  events  derive  no  small  sat- 
isfaction from  the  reflection  that  my  best  endeavours  have  been  exerted 
in  transmitting  to  posterity  the  achievements  of  the  greatest  people 
in  the  world  ;  and  if,  amidst  such  a  multitude  of  writers,  my  name 
should  not  emerge  from  obscurity,  I  shall  console  myself  by  consider- 
ing the  distinguished  reputation  and  eminent  merit  of  those  who  stand 
in  my  way  in  the  pursuit  of  fame.  It  may  be  further  observed,  that 
such  a  subject  must  require  a  work  of  immense  extent,  as  our  researches 
must  be  carried  back  through  a  space  of  more  than  seven  hundred  years; 
that  the  state  has,  from  very  small  beginnings,  gradually  increased  to 
such  a  magnitude  that  it  is  now  distressed  by  its  own  bulk  ;  and,  besides, 
that  there  is  every  reason  to  apprehend  that  the  generality  of  readers 
will  receive  but  little  pleasure  from  the  accounts  of  its  first  origin,  or  of 
the  times  immediately  succeeding,  but  will  be  impatient  to  arrive  at 
these  modern  times,  in  which  the  powers  of  this  overgrown  state  have 
been  long  employed  in  working  their  own  destruction." 


76  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

"  Mollissima  corda 

Humano  generi  dare  se  natura  fatetur, 
Q,ua3  lacrymas  dedit.     HBBC  nostri  pars  optima  sensus. 

Separat  hoc  nos 
A  grege  mutorum."  * 

TJie  general  principle  of  benevolence,  or  of  good-will 
to  our  fellow-creatures,  (of  which  I  shall  treat  afterwards, 
when  I  come  to  consider  our  moral  duties,)  as  it  disposes 
us  to  promote  the  happiness  of  others,  so  it  restrains  us 
from  doing  them  evil,  and  prompts  us  to  relieve  their  dis- 
tresses. The  office  of  compassion  or  pity^  is  more  limited. 
It  impels  us  to  relieve  distress ;  it  serves  as  a  check  on 
resentment  and  selfishness,  and  the  other  principles  which 
lead  us  to  injure  the  interests  of  others  ;  but  it  does  not 
'prompt  us  to  the  communication  of  positive  happiness. 
Its  object  is  to  relieve,  and  sometimes  to  prevent,  suffer- 
ing ;  but  not  to  augment  the  enjoyment  of  those  who  are 
already  easy  and  comfortable.  We  are  disposed  to  do 
this  by  the  general  spirit  of  benevolence,  but  not  by  the 
particular  affection  of  pity. 

The  final  cause  of  this  constitution  of  our  nature  is  very 
ingeniously  and  happily  pointed  out  by  Dr.  Butler  in  his 
second  sermon  On  Compassion.  This  profound  philoso- 
pher observes,  that,  "  supposing  men  to  be  capable  of  hap- 
piness and  of  misery  in  degrees  equally  intense,  yet  they 
are  liable  to  the  latter  during  longer  periods  of  time  than 
they  are  susceptible  of  the  former.  We  frequently  see 
men  suffering  the  agonies  of  pain  for  days,  weeks,  and 
months  together,  without  any  intermission,  except  the 
short  suspensions  of  sleep,  —  a  stretch  of  misery  to  which 
no  state  of  high  enjoyment  can  approach  in  point  of  dura- 
tion. Such,  too,  is  our  constitution,  and  that  of  the  world 
around  us,  that  the  sources  of  our  sufferings  are  placed 
much  more  within  the  power  of  other  men  than  the  sources 
of  our  pleasures,  so  that  there  is  no  individual  (however 
incapable  he  may  be  to  add  to  the  happiness  of  his  fellow- 

*  Juv.,  Sat.  XV.  131,  142. 

"  Nature,  who  gave  us  tears,  by  that  alone 
Proclaims  she  made  the  feeling  heart  our  own ; 

And  't  is  our  noblest  sense 

This  marks  our  birth ; 

Our  great  distinction  from  the  beasts  of  earth." 


PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED.  77 

creatures)  who  has  it  not  in  his  power  to  do  them  great 
and  extensive  mischief.  To  prevent  the  abuse  of  this 
power  when  we  are  under  the  influence  of  any  of'  the 
angry  passions,  by  means  of  a  particular  affection  tending 
to  check  the  excess  of  resentment,  was,  therefore,  of  more 
consequence  to  the  comfort  of  human  life  than  it  would 
have  been  to  superadd  to  the  general  principle  of  good-will 
a  particular  affection  prompting  to  the  communication  of 
positive  enjoyment.  The  power  we  have  over  the  misery 
of  our  fellow-creatures  being  a  more  important  trust  than 
our  power  of  promoting  the  happiness  of  those  already 
comfortable,  the  former  stood  more  in  need  of  a  guard  to 
check  its  excesses  than  the  latter  of  a  stimulus  to  animate 
its  exertions.  But,  further,  as  it  is  more  in  our  power 
to  communicate  misery  than  happiness,  so  it  is  more  in 
our  power  to  relieve  misery  than  to  superadd  enjoyment. 
Hence  an  additional  reason  for  implanting  in  our  constitu- 
tion the  affection  of  compassion,  while  there  is  none  analo- 
gous to  it  urging  us  by  an  instinctive  impulse  to  acts  of 
general  benevolence." 

The  final  causes  of  compassion,  then,  are  to  prevent  and 
to  relieve  misery,  —  to  prevent  misery  by  checking  the 
violence  of  our  own  angry  passions,  and  to  relieve  misery 
by  calling  our  attention,  and  engaging  our  good  offices,  lo 
every  object  of  distress  within  our  reach.  The  latter  is 
the  more  common  and  the  more  important  of  its  offices, 
at  least  in  the  present  state  of  society.  And  it  is  this 
which  I  have  chiefly  in  view  in  the  following  observations. 

I  have  said  that  compassion  calls  or  arrests  our  attention 
to  the  distressed  objects^  within  our  reach.  When  we  are 
immersed  in  the  business  of  the  world,  or  intoxicated  with 
its  pleasures,  we  are  apt  to  overlook,  and  sometimes  to 
withdraw  from,  scenes  of  misery.  It  is  the  office  of  com- 
passion to  plead  the  cause  of  the  wretched,  or  rather  to 
solicit  us  to  take  their  case  under  our  consideration  ;  for 
so  strong  is  the  sense  which  all  men  have  of  the  duty  of 
beneficence,  that,  if  they  could  only  be  brought  to  exercise 
their  powers  of  reflection  on  the  facts  before  them,  they 
could  scarcely  ever  fail  to  relieve  distress,  when,  in  con- 
sistency with  other  obligations,  it  was  in  their  power  to  do 
so.  One  striking;  proof  of  this  is,  that  the  active  zeal  of 
"7* 


78  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

humanity  is  (cceteris  paribvs)  strongest  in  those  men  whose 
warm  imaginations  present  to  them  lively  pictures  of  the 
sufferings  of  others  ;  and  that  there  is  scarcely  any  man, 
however  callous  and  selfish,  whose  beneficence  may  not  be 
called  forth  by  a  skilful  and  eloquent  description  of  any 
scene  of  misery.  General  considerations  with  regard  to 
our  social  duties  will  often  have  little  weight  ;  but  if  the 
attention  can  only  be  fixed  to  facts,  nature,  in  most  in- 
stances, accomplishes  the  rest.  Hence  the  importance  in 
our  constitution  of  the  affection  of  compassion,  which, 
amidst  the  tumult  of  business  or  of  pleasure,  stops  us  sud- 
denly in  our  career,  and  reminds  us  that  we  have  social 
duties  to  fulfil  ; —  calls  upon  us  to  examine  the  claims  of 
the  helpless,  and  aggravates  our  guilt  if  we  disregard  its 
admonition. 

II.  Jin  Instinctive,  and  not,  in  itself,  a  Jlforal  Princi- 
ple.] Compassion,  according  to  the  view  now  given  of  it, 
is  an  instinctive  impulse  prompting  to  a  particular  object, 
analogous  in  many  respects  to  the  animal  appetites  already 
considered.  It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  amiable,  and 
one  of  the  most  important  parts  of  our  constitution  ;  but 
it  is  not  an  object  of  moral  approbation.  Our  duty  lies  in 
the  proper  regulation  of  it,  —  in  considering  with  attention 
the  facts  it  recommends  to  our  notice,  and  in  acting  with 
respect  to  them  as  reason  and  conscience  prescribe.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  for  me  to  add,  that  there  are  cases  in 
which  these  inform  us  that  we  ought  not  to  follow  the  im- 
pulse of  compassion,  and  in  which  it  is  no  less  meritorious 
in  us  to  resist  its  solicitations  than  to  deny  ourselves  the 
unlawful  gratification  of  a  sensual  appetite  ;  and  even  in 
those  instances  in  which  our  duty  calls  us  to  obey  its  im- 
pulse, our  merit  does  not  arise  from  the  affection  we  feel, 
but  from  doing  what  our  conscience  approves  of  as  right, 
on  a  deliberate  consideration  of  the  action  we  are  to  per- 
form, when  examined  in  all  its  bearings  and  consequences. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  unquestionable  truth  of 
this  theoretical  conclusion,  it  is  nevertheless  certain,  that  a 
strong  and  habitual  tendency  to  indulge  this  affection  af- 
fords no  slight  presumption  in  favor  of  the  worth  and  be- 
nevolence of  a  character.  Whoever  reflects,  on  the  one 


PITY    TO   THE    DISTRESSED.  79 

hand,  upon  its  general  coincidence  with  what  a  sense  of 
duty  prescribes,  and,  upon  the  other,  on  the  nature  of 
those  circumstances  by  which  its  indulgence  is  checked 
and.  discouraged  among  men  of  the  world,  will,  I  appre- 
hend, readily  assent  to  the  truth  of  this  observation.  The 
poet,  perhaps,  went  a  little  too  far  when  he  stated,  as  a 
general  and  unqualified  maxim,  'Ayadol  otQidaxQvtg  ardgn;;* 
but,  upon  the  whole,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  maxim, 
with  all  the  exceptions  which  may  contradict  it,  will  be 
found  much  nearer  to  the  fact  than  they  who  have  been 
trained  in  the  schools  of  fashionable  persiflage  will  be  dis-  , 
posed  to  acknowledge. 
- 

III.  The  Affection  of  Pity  not  a  Modification  of  Self- 
love.']  The  philosophers  who  attempt  to  resolve  the  whole 
of  human  conduct  into  self-love  have  adopted  various  theo- 
ries to  explain  the  affection  of  pity.  Without  stopping  to 
examine  these,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  a  simple  statement 
of  the  fact,  which  statement  will  at  once  show  how  far  all 
of  these  are  erroneous,  and  will  point  out  the  oversight  in 
which  they  have  originated.  Whoever  reflects  carefully 
on  the  effect  produced  on  his  own  mind  by  objects  which 
excite  his  pity  must  be  sensible  that  it  is  a  compounded 
one  ;  and  therefore,  unless  we  are  at  pains  to  analyze  it 
carefully,  we  may  be  apt  to  mistake  some  one  of  the  in- 
gredients for  the  whole  combination. 

On  the  sight  of  distress  we  are  distinctly  conscious,  I 

*  "Good  men  are  prone  to  shed  tears."  —  "The  poets,"  says  Mr. 
Wollaston,  "  who  of  all  writers  undertake  to  imitate  nature  most,  oft 
introduce  even  their  heroes  weeping.  (See  how  Homer  represents 
Ulysses,  Od.,  E.  151  et  seq.)  The  tears  of  men  are  in  truth  very  different 
from  the  cries  and  ejulations  of  children.  They  are  silent  streams,  and 
flow  from  other  causes,  commonly  some  tender,  or  perhaps  philosophical 
reflection.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  hard  hearts  and  dry  eyes  come  to  be 
fashionable.  But  for  all  that,  it  is  certain  the  glandulte  lachrymalts 
are  not  made  for  nothing."  Religion  of  Nature  Delineated,  Sect.  VI. 
§  xvii. 

It  is  also  remarked  by  Descartes,  tha$  the  tears  of  children  and  of  old 
men  (in  which  both  are  apt  to  indulge)  flow  from  different  sources. 

"  Senesssepe  lachrymantur  ex  amoreet  gaudio Infantes  raro  ex 

Iffititia  lachrymantur,  ssepius  ex  tristitia,  etiam  quam  amor  non  comita- 
tur."  (De  Passionibus,  Secunda  Pars,  Art.  cxxxiii.)  The  important 
facts  here  described  have  seldom  been  remarked ;  and  the  statement  of 
them  does  honor  to  Descartes,  as  an  attentive  and  accurate  observer  of 
human  nature  in  the  beginning  and  towards  the  close  of  its  history. 


80  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

think,  of  three  things  :  —  1st.  A  painful  emotion  in  conse- 
quence of  the  distress  we  see.  2d.  A  selfish  desire  tore- 
move  the  cause  of  this  uneasiness.  3d.  A  disposition  to 
relieve  the  distress  from  a  benevolent  and  disinterested 
concern  about  the  sufferer.  If  we  had  not  this  last  dis- 
position, and  if  it  were  not  stronger  than  the  former,  the 
sight  of  a  distressed  object  would  invariably  prompt  us  to 
fly  from  it,  as  we  frequently  see  those  men  do  in  whom 
the  second  ingredient  prevails  over  the  third.  In  ordinary 
cases  the  impulse  of  pity  attaches  us  to  the  cause  of  our 
sufferings  ;  and  we  cling  to  it,  even  although  we  are  cori- 
scious  that  we  can  afford  no  relief  but  the  consolation  of 
sympathy  ;  —  a  demonstrative  proof  that  one  at  least  of 
the  ingredients  of  pity  (and  in  most  men  the  prevailing 
ingredient)  is  purely  disinterested  in  its  nature  and  origin.* 

*  There  is  a  passage  in  Hazlitt's  Essays  on  the  Principles  of  Human  Jic- 
tion,  2d  Ed.,  pp.  131  et  seq.,  which  exposes  a  common  fallacy  on  this  sub- 
ject. "It  is  absurd  to  say,  that,  in  compassionating  the  distress  of  others, 
we  are  only  affected  by  our  own  pain  and  uneasiness,  since  this  very 
pain  arises  from  our  compassion.  It  is  putting  the  effect  before  the 
cause.  Before  I  can  be  affected  by  my  own  pain,  I  must  be  put  in 
pain.  If  I  am  affected  by,  or  feel  pain  and  sorrow  at,  an  idea  existing 
in  my  mind,  which  idea  is  neither  pain  itself  nor  an  idea  of  my  own 
pain,  in  what  sense  can  this  be  called  the  love  of  myself?  Again,  I  am 
equally  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how,  if  the  pain  which  this  idea  gives  me 
does  not  impel  me  to  get  rid  of  it  as  it  gives  me  pain,  or  as  it  actually 
affects  myself  as  a  distinct,  momentary  impression,  but  as  it  is  connected 
with  other  ideas,  that  is,  is  supposed  to  affect  another,  —  how,  I  say, 
this  can  be  considered  as  the  effect  of  self-love.  The  object,  effort,  or 
struggle  of  the  mind  is  not  to  remove  the  idea  or  immediate  feeling  of 
pain  from  the  [sympathizing]  individual,  or  to  put  a  stop  to  that  feeling 
as  it  affects  his  temporary  interest,  but  to  produce  a  disconnection 
(whatever  it  may  cost  him)  between  certain  ideas  of  other  things  exist- 
ing in  his  mind,  namely,  the  idea  of  pain  and  the  idea  of  another  per- 
son. Self,  mere  physical  self,  is  entirely  forgotten,  both  practically  and 
consciously. 

" '  O,  but,'  it  will  be  said, '  I  cannot  help  feeling  pain  when  I  see 
another  in  actual  pain,  or  get  rid  of  the  idea  by  any  other  means  than 
by  relieving  the  person,  and  knowing  that  it  exists  no  longer.'  But 
will  this  prove  that  my  love  of  others  is  regulated  by  my  love  of  my- 
self, or  that  my  self-love  is  subservient  to  my  love  of  others  ?  What 
hinders  me  from  immediately  removing  the  painful  idea  from  my  mind 
but  that  sympathy  with  others 'which  stands  in  the  way  of  it?  That 
this  independent  attachment  to  the  good  of  others  is  a  natural,  una- 
voidable feeling  of  the  human  mind  is  what  I  do  not  wish  to  deny.  It 
is  also,  if  you  will,  a  mechanical  feeling;  but  then  it  is  neither  a  physi- 
cal nor  a  selfish  mechanism.  I  see  colors,  hear  sounds,  feel  heat  and 
cold,  and  believe  that  two  and  two  make  four,  by  a  certain  mechanism, 
or  from  the  necessary  structure  of  the  human  mind ;  but  it  does  not 


PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED.  81 

Although,  however,  this  observation  seems  to  me  deci- 
sive against  the  theory  in  question,  in  whatever  form  it 
may  be  proposed,  I  cannot  omit  this  opportunity  of  ex- 
amining a  new  modification  of  the  same  hypothesis,  which 
occurs  in  Mr.  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments. 
The  view  of  the  subject  which  he  has  taken  has  the  merit 
of  entire  originality,  and,  like  all  his  other  speculations 
and  opinions,  derives  a  strong  recommendation  from  the 
splendid  abilities  and  exemplary  worth  of  the  author.  I 
hope,  therefore,  that  the  critical  strictures  upon  it  which 
I  am  now  to  offer  will  not  be  considered  as  a  useless  or 
unreasonable  interruption  of  the  discussions  in  which  we 
are  at  present  engaged. 

Before  entering  on  this  argument,  I  shall  just  mention 
another  hypothesis  concerning  the  origin  of  compassion, 
which  seems  to  me  to  approach  more  nearly  to  that  of  Mr. 
Smith  than  any  thing  else  I  have  met  with  in  the  works  of 
his  predecessors.  I  allude  to  the  account  of  pity  given 
by  Hobbes,  who  defines  it  to  be  "  the  imagination  or  fic- 
tion of  future  calamity  to  ourselves  proceeding  from  the 
sense  of  another  man's  calamity."  *  In  what  respect  this 
theory  coincides  with  Mr.  Smith's  will  appear  from  the 
remarks  I  am  now  to  make.  In  the  mean  time  I  shall 
only  observe  how  completely  the  futility  of  Hobbes's 

follow  that  all  this  has  any  thing  to  do  with  self-love.  One  half  of  the 
process,  namely,  the  connecting  the  sense  of  pain  with  the  idea  of  it,  is 
evidently  contrary  to  self-love  ;  nor  do  I  see  any  more  reason  for  ascrib- 
ing to  that  principle  the  uneasiness,  or  active  impulse  which  follows, 
since  my  own  good  is  neither  thought  of  in  it,  nor  follows  from  it  except 
indirectly,  slowly,  and  conditionally.  The  mechanical  tendency  to  my 
own  ease  or  gratification  is  so  far  from  being  the  real  spring  or  natural 
motive  of  compassion  that  it  is  constantly  overruled  and  defeated  by  it. 

"  Lastly,  should  any  desperate  metaphysician  persist  in  affirming  that 
my  love  of  others  is  still  the  love  of  myself,  because  the  impression 
exciting  my  sympathy  must  exist  in  my  mind  and  so  be  a  part  of  myself, 
I  should  answer  that  this  is  using  words  without  affixing  any  distinct 
meaning  to  them.  The  love  or  affection  excited  by  any  general  idea 
existing  in  my  mind  can  no  more  be  said  to  be  the  love  of  myself  than 
the  idea  of  another  person  is  the  idea  of  myself  because  it  is  I  who  per- 
ceive it.  This  method  of  reasoning,  however,  will  not  go  a  great  way 
to  prove  the  doctrine  of  an  abstract  principle  of  self-interest,  for  by 
the  same  rule  it  would  follow  that  I  hu.lt,  myself  in  hating  any  other 
person." 

From  the  italicized  clause  it  will  be  seen  that  Hazlitt  does  not  con- 
cede so  much  as  Stewart  to  self-love. —  ED. 

*  Human  Nature,  Chap   ix.  §  10. 


82  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

definition  is  exposed  by  a  single  remark  of  Butler,  that,  if 
it  were  just,  it  would  follow  that  the  most  fearful  temper 
would  be  the  most  compassionate.*  We  may  add,  too, 
that  our  pity  is  more  strongly  excited  by  the  distresses  of 
an  infant  than  by  those  of  the  aged,  although  the  former 
are  such  as  we  cannot  possibly  be  exposed  to  suffer  a 
second  time,  and  the  latter  such  as  we  must  expect  to 
endure  sooner  or  later,  if  the  period  of  life  should  be  pro- 
longed to  that  term  which  the  weakness  of  most  indi- 
viduals disposes  them  to  wish  for. 

IV.  Mam  Smith's  Theory  of  Pity.]  The  leading 
principles  of  Mr.  Smith's  theory,  in  as  far  as  it  applies  to 
pit y  or  compassion,  are  comprehended  in  the  three  follow- 
ing propositions  :  — 

1st.  That  it  is  from  our  own  experience  alone  we  can 
form  any  idea  of  the  sufferings  of  another  person  on  any 
particular  occasion. 

2d.  That  the  only  manner  in  which  we  can  form  this 
idea  is  by  supposing  ourselves  in  the  same  circumstances 
with  him,  and  then  conceiving  how  we  should  be  affected 
if  we  were  so  situated. 

3d.  That  the  uneasiness  which  we  feel  in  consequence 
of  the  sufferings  of  another  arises  from  our  conceiving 
those  sufferings  to  be  our  own. 

The  first  of  these  propositions  is  unquestionable.  Our 
notions  of  pain  and  of  suffering  are  undoubtedly  derived, 
in  the  first  instance,  from  our  own  experience. 

The  second  proposition  is  perhaps  expressed  with  too 
great  a  degree  of  latitude.  That,  in  order  to  understand 
completely  the  sufferings  of  our  neighbours  in  any  particu- 
lar instance,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  have  been  once 
placed  in  circumstances  somewhat  similar  to  his,  I  believe 
to  be  true,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  frequently 
useful  to  us  to  collect  our  attention  to  the  distresses  of 
others,  by  conceiving  their  situation  to  be  ours  ;  but  it 
does  not  appear  to  me  that  this  process  of  the  mind  takes 
place  in  every  case  in  which  we  are  affected  by  the  sight 

*  See  an  excellent  note  on  Sermon  V.  It  contains  an  important 
hint  about  sympai/iy,  which  Mr.  Smith  has  prosecuted  with  great  in- 
genuity. 


PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED.  83 

of  misery.  When  we  are  once  satisfied  that  a  particular 
situation  is  a  natural  source  of  misery  to  the  person  placed 
in  it,  the  bare  perception  of  the  situation  is  sufficient  to 
excite  an  unpleasant  emotion  in  the  spectator,  without  any 
reference  whatever  to  himself.  This  is  easily  explicable 
on  the  common  doctrine  of  the  association  of  ideas. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  looks,  the  gestures,  the  tones  of 
distress,  speak  in  a  moment  from  heart  to  heart,  and  affect 
us  with  an  anguish  more  exquisitely  piercing  than  any  we 
are  able  to  produce  by  all  the  various  expedients  we  can 
employ  to  assist  the  imagination  in  conceiving  the  situation 
of  the  sufferer. 

But,  abstracting  from  these  considerations,  and  granting 
the  second  proposition  in  all  its  extent,  the  third  proposi- 
tion is  by  no  means  a  necessary  consequence  of  it ;  for, 
even  in  those  cases  in  which  we  endeavour  to  awaken  our 
compassion  for  the  sufferings  of  our  neighbour  by  conceiv- 
ing ourselves  placed  in  his  situation,  our  compassion  is  not 
founded  on  a  belief  that  the  sufferings  are  ours.  So  long 
as  we  conceive  ourselves  in  distress,  we  feel  a  certain 
degree  of  uneasiness  ;  but  this  is  not  the  uneasiness  of 
compassion.  In  order  to  excite  this,  we  must  apply  to 
our  neighbour  the  result  of  what  we  have  experienced  in 
ourselves  ;  or,  in  other  words,  having  formed  an  idea  of 
what  he  suffers  by  bringing  his  case  home  to  ourselves,  we 
must  carry  our  attention  back  to  him  before  he  becomes 
the  object  of  our  pity.  N9r  is  there  any  thing  mysterious 
or  wonderful  in  this  process  of  the  mind.  That  we  are  so 
formed  as  to  expect  that  the  operation  of  the  same  cause, 
in  similar  circumstances,  will  be  attended  with  the  same 
result,  might  be  shown  from  a  thousand  instances.  It  is 
thus,  that,  having  tried  a  physical  experiment  on  certain 
substances,  I  take  for  granted  that  the  result  of  a  similar 
experiment  on  similar  substances  will  be  the  same.  It  is 
thus  that  I  conclude,  with  the  most  perfect  confidence,  that 
a  wound  given  to  my  body  in  a  particular  organ  would  be 
instantly  fatal ;  although  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  in  this 
case  I  have  no  direct  evidence  from  experience  that  the 
internal  structure  of  my  body  is  similar  to  those  of  the 
bodies  which  anatomists  have  hitherto  examined.  Now,  I 
apprehend,  it  is  in  the  same  manner,  that,  having  once 


84  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

experienced  the  pain  produced  by  an  instrument  of  torture 
applied  to  myself,  I  take  for  granted  that  the  effect  will 
be  the  same  when  it  is  applied  to  another.  In  conse- 
quence of  this  application,  the  sentiment  of  compassion 
arises  in  my  mind,  during  the  continuance  of  which  my 
attention  is  completely  engrossed,  not  about  myself,  but 
about  the  real  sufferer. 

And,  indeed,  if  the  case  were  otherwise,  compassion 
would  be  ultimately  resolvable  into  a  selfish  principle,  and 
those  men  would  be  most  ready  to  feel  the  distresses  of 
others  who  are  most  impatient  of  their  own.  A  remark 
similar  to  this  (as  I  have  already  observed)  is  made  by 
Dr.  Butler,  with  respect  to  a  theory  of  Hobbes,  who 
defines  pity  to  be  the  fiction  of  future  calamity  to  ourselves 
from  the  sight  of  the  present  calamity  of  another.  "Were 
this  the  case,"  says  Butler,  "  the  most  fearful  tempers 
would  be  the  most  compassionate."  According  to  Mr. 
Smith,  pity  arises  from  the  fiction,  not  of  future,  but  of 
present,  calamity  to  ourselves.  The  two  theories  approach 
very  nearly  to  each  other,  and  the  same  answer  is  applica- 
ble to  both.* 

In  further  proof  that  the  distress  produced  by  the  suffer- 
ings of  others  arises  from  a  conception  that  these  distresses 
are  our  own,  Mr.  Smith  mentions  a  variety  of  facts  which 
he  thinks  establish  his  doctrine  with  demonstrative  evi- 
dence. "  When  we  see  a  stroke  aimed  and  just  ready  to 
fall  upon  the  leg  or  arm  of  another  person,  we  naturally 
shrink  and  draw  back  our  own  leg,  or  our  own  arm,  and 

*  So  far,  indeed,  is  it  from  being  true  that  those  who  are  most  im- 
patient under  their  personal  distresses  are  the  most  prone  to  com- 
miserate the  sorrows  of  others,  that  I  apprehend  the  reverse  of  this 
supposition  will  be  found  agreeable  to  universal  experience.  The  most 
unfeeling  characters  I  have  ever  known  have  been  men,  not  only 
tremblingly  alive  to  the  slightest  evil  which  affected  themselves,  but 
whose  whole  attention  seemed  manifestly  to  be  engrossed  with  their 
own  comforts  and  luxuries.  On  the  other  hand,  the  nearest  approaches 
I  have  happened  to  witness  to  stoical  patience  and  fortitude  under 
severe  suffering  have  been  invariably  accompanied  with  a  peculiarly 
strong  disposition  to  social  tenderness  and  sympathy.  Gray  alludes  to 
this  contrast  in  his  Hymn  to  Adversity:  — 

"To  each  his  sufferings;   all  are  men 

Condemned  alike  to  groan  ; 
The  feeling,  for  another's  pain, 
The  unfeeling,  for  his  own." 


PITY    TO    THE    DISTRESSED.  85 

when  it  does  fall  we  feel  it  in  some  measure,  and  are  hurt 
by  it  as  well  as  the  sufferer.  The  mob,  when  they  are 
gazing  at  a  dancer  on  the  slack  rope,  naturally  writhe  and 
twist  and  balance  their  own  bodies  as  they  see  him  do, 
and  as  they  feel  that  they  must  themselves  do,  if  in  his 
situation."  In  general,  he  observes,  that,  "  as  to  be  in 
pain  or  distress  of  any  kind  excites  the  most  excessive 
sorrow,  so  to  conceive  or  to  imagine  that  we  are  in  it 
excites  some  degree  of  the  same  emotion,  in  proportion 
to  the  vivacity  or  dulness  of  the  conception."  * 

The  facts  here  appealed  to  by  Mr.  Smith  are  indeed 
extremely  curious,  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  explain  them. 
They  are  not,  however,  singular  facts  in  our  constitution, 
but  belong  to  that  class  of  phenomena  which  medical 
writers  refer  to  what  they  call  the  principle  of  imita- 
tion.-^ Of  this  kind  are  the  contagious  effects  of  hysterics, 
of  yawning,  of  laughter,  of  crying,  &c.  In  these  last 
cases  Mr.  Smith  would  suppose,  if  he  were  to  apply  the 
same  reasoning  he  uses  in  analogous  instances,  that  the 
effect  arises  from  our  conceiving  ludicrous  or  sorrowful 
ideas  similar  to  those  by  which  these  emotions  are  pro- 
duced. But  the  primary  effect  seems  to  be  produced  on 
the  body,  and  the  secondary  effect  on  the  mind  ;  some- 
what in  the  same  manner  in  which  we  can  excite  a  sensible 
degree  of  the  passion  of  anger  in  our  own  breast  by  imitat- 
ing the  looks  and  gestures  which  are  expressive  of  rage. 
It  does  not  appear  to  me  that  this  bodily  contagion  of  the 
expression  of  passion  has  any  immediate  connection  with 
our  fellow-feeling  with  distress.  If  it  had,  those  would 
be  most  liable  to  it  who  felt  the  most  deeply  for  the  sor- 
rows of  others,  —  a  conclusion  which  is  certainly  not 
agreeable  to  fact.  During  the  madness  of  Belvidera,  those 
who  are  the  most  powerfully  affected  by  the  representa- 
tion are. not  the  nervous  ladies  who  catch  from  the  actress 
something  similar  to  a  hysteric  paroxysm  ;  but  they  who, 
retaining  their  own  reason,  reflect  on  the  train  of  mis- 
fortunes which  have  unhinged  her  mind,  and  who  weep  for 

*  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  I.  Sect.  I.  Chap.  i. 

t  In  my  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Vol.  III.,  I  have  distin- 
guished this  law  of  our  nature  by  the  more  precise  and  unequivocal 
title  of  the  Principle  of  Sympathetic  Imitation. 


ft 

86  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

her  madness,  not  so  much  as  a  misfortune  in  itself,  as  an 
indication  of  that  conflict  of  passions  by  which' it  was  pro- 
duced. The  effect  in  the  former  case  depends  on  a  pecu- 
liar ir'ritability  and  mobility  of  the  bodily  frame  altogether 
unconnected  with  any  of  the  moral  sympathies  or  sensi- 
bilities of  our  nature. 

SECTION  VI.    o 

OF  RESENTMENT,  AND  THE  VARIOUS  OTHER  ANGRY  AFFEC- 
TIONS GRAFTED  UPON  IT,  COMMONLY  CONSIDERED  BY 
ETHICAL  WRITERS  AS  MALEVOLENT  AFFECTIONS. 

I.  Enumeration  of  the  Malevolent  Affections  originat- 
ing in  Resentment.]  The  names  which  are  given  to 
these  affections  in  common  discourse  are  various,  Hatred, 
Jealousy,  Envy,  Revenge,  Misanthropy  ;  but  it  may  be 
doubted  if  there  be  any  principle  of  this  kind  implanted  by 
nature  in  the  mind,  excepting  the  Principle  of  Resentment, 
the  others  being  grafted  on  this  stock  by  our  erroneous 
opinions  and  criminal  habits. 

Emulation,  indeed,  (which  is  unquestionably  an  original 
principle  of  action,)  is  treated  of  by  Dr.  Reid  under  the 
title  of  the  Malevolent  Affections.  But  I  formerly  gave 
my  reasons  for  classing  this  principle  with  the  desires,  and 
not  with  the  affections.  I  acknowledged,  indeed,  that 
emulation  is  often  accompanied  with  ill-will  to  our  rival ; 
but  the  malevolent  affection  is  only  a  concomitant  cir- 
cumstance ;  and  it  is  not  the  affection,  but  the  desire  of 
superiority,  which  can  be  justly  regarded  as  the  active 
principle. 

Nor  is  this  sentiment  of  ill-will  a  necessary  concomitant 
of  the  desire  of  superiority  ;  for  there  is  unquestionably  a 
solid  distinction  between  emulation  and  envy,  the^latter  of 
which  is  a  corruption  of  the  former,  disgraceful  to  the 
character  and  ruinous  to  the  happiness  of  whoever  in- 
dulges it.  In  the  case  of  envy,  the  malevolent  affection 
arises,  I  believe,  generally  from  some  error  of  the  judg- 
ment or  some  illusion  of  the  imagination,  leading  us  to 
refer  the  cause  of  our  own  want  of  success  either  to  some 
injustice  on  the  part  of  our  rival,  or  to  an  unjust  partiality 


MALEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  87 

in  the  world  which  overrates  his  merits  and  undervalues 
ours.  In  both  of  these  cases,  the  desire  of  superiority 
generates  malevolent  affections,  by  first  leading  us  to  ap- 
prehend injustice,  and  thus  exciting  the  natural  passion  of 
resentment. 

Before  proceeding  to  consider  this  principle  of  action, 
it  may  be  proper  again  to  remark,  that,  when  the  epithet 
malevolent  is  applied  to  it,  that  word  must  not  be  under- 
stood to  imply  any  thing  criminal,  at  least  so  long  as  resent- 
ment is  restrained  within  proper  bounds,  after  having  been 
originally  excited  by  real  injustice.  The  epithet  malevo- 
lent is  used  only  to  express  that  temporary  ill-will  towards 
the  author  of  the  apprehended  injustice  with  which  resent- 
ment is  necessarily  accompanied  till  it  begins  to  subside. 

One  of  the  first  authors  who  examined  with  success  this 
part  of  our  constitution,  and  illustrated  the  important  pur- 
poses to  which  it  is  subservient,  was  Bishop  Butler,  in  an 
excellent  discourse  printed  among  his  Sermons.  The 
hints  he  has  thrown  out  have  evidently  been  of  great  use 
both  to  Lord  Kames  and  Mr.  Smith  in  their  speculations 
concerning  the  principles  of  morals. 

II.  Instinctive  and  Deliberate  Resentment.']  To  Butler 
we  are  indebted  for  the  illustration  of  a  very  important 
distinction  (which  had  been  formerly  hinted  at  by  Hobbes) 
between  instinctive  and  deliberate  resentment.  Instinctive 
resentment  operates  in  men  exactly  as  in  the  lower  ani- 
mals, arising  necessarily  from  any  feeling  of  pain  excited 
by  external  objects,  and  prompting  us  to  a  retaliation  upon 
the  cause  of  our  suffering  without  any  exercise  whatever 
of  reflection  and  reason.  It  is  thus  that  a  child  beats 
the  ground  after  it  has  hurt  itself  by  a  fall,  and  that  we 
sometimes  see  a  passionate  man  wreak  his  vengeance  on 
inanimate  objects  by  dashing  them  to  pieces.  This  spe- 
cies of  resentment,  however,  subsides  instantly,  and  we 
are  ready  next  moment  to  smile  at  the  absurdity  of  our 
conduct. 

Deliberate  resentment  is  excited  only  by  intentional 
injury,  and  therefore  implies  a  sense  of  justice,  or  of 
moral  good  or  evil.  It  is  plainly  peculiar  to  a  rational 
nature,  though  perhaps  it  is  not  very  distinguishable  from 


INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

instinctive  or  animal  resentment  in  the  ruder  state  of  our 
own  species.  It  is  observed  by  Dr.  Robertson,  that 
"•the  desire  of  vengeance  which  takes  possession  of  the 
heart  of  savages  resembles  the  instinctive  rage  of  an  animal 
rather  than  the  passion  of  a  man,  and  that  it  turns  with  un- 
discerning  fury  even  against  inanimate  objects."  He  adds, 
"  that,  if  struck  with  an  arrow  in  battle,  they  will  tear  it 
from  the  wound,  break  and  bite  it  with  their  teeth,  and 
dash  it  on  the  ground."* 

This  distinction,  too,  is  much  insisted  on  by  Lord 
Kames  in  various  parts  of  his  writings  ;  and  it  is  from  him 
that  I  have  borrowed  the  phrase  of  instinctive  resentment, 
which  he  has  substituted  instead  of  sudden  resentment,  em- 
ployed by  Butler. 

III.  The  Final  Cause  of  Instinctive  Resentment.]  The 
final  cause  of  instinctive  resentment  was  plainly  to  de- 
fend us  against  sudden  violence,  (where  reason  would 
come  too  late  to  our  assistance,)  by  rousing  the  powers 
both  of  mind  and  body  to  instant  and  vigorous  exertion. 
A  number  of  our  other  instincts  are  perfectly  analogous  to 
this.  Such,  for  example,  is  the  instinctive  effort  we  make 
to  recover  ourselves  when  we  are  in  danger  of  losing  our 
balance,!  and  the  instinctive  despatch  with  which  we  shut 

*  History  of  America,  Book  IV.  §  73. 

t  Although  I  have  followed  Dr.  Reid's  language  in  calling  this  an  in- 
stinctive effort,  I  am  abundantly  aware  that  the  expression  is  not  unex- 
ceptionable. On  this  head  I  perfectly  agree  (excepting  in  one  single 
point)  with  the  following  remarks  of  Gravesande  :  — 

"II  y  a  quelque  chose  d'admirable  dans  le  moyen  ordinaire  dont  les 
hommes  se  aervent,  pour  s'empccher  de  tomber :  car  dans  le  tems  que, 
par  quelque  mouvetnent,  le  poids  du  corps  s'augmente  d'une  cote,  un 
autre  mouvement  retablit  1'equilibre  dans  1'instant.  On  attribue  com- 
munement  la  chose  a  nn  instinct  nature!  quoiqu'il  faille  necessairement 
1'attribuer  ft  un  art  perfectionne  par  1'exercise. 

"  Les  enfans  ignorent  absolument  cet  art  dans  les  premieres  annees 
de  lour  vie ;  ils  1'apprennent  peu  a  peu,  et  s'y  perfectionnent,  parce 
qu'ils  ont  continueliement  occasion  de  s'y  exercer ;  exercise  qui,  dans 
la  suite,  n'exige  presque  plus  aucune  attention  de  leur  part ;  tout 
comme  un  musicien  remue  les  doigts,  suivant  les  regies  de  1'art,  pendant 
qu'il  apperqoit  a  peine  qu'il  y  fasse  le  moindre  attention." —  (Eiirres 
Phifosophiijues  de  M.  S'Gravesande,  p.  121,  2de  Partie,  Amsterdam, 
1774. 

The  only  thing  I  am  disposed  to  object  to  in  the  foregoing  passage  is 
that  clause  where  the  author  ascribes  the  effort  in  question  to  an  art. 
Is  it  not  manifestly  as  wide  of  the  truth  to  refer  it  to  this  source  as  to  a 
pure  instinct? 


MALEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  89 

the  eyelids  when  an  object  is  made  to  pass  rapidly  before 
the  face.  In  general  it  will  be  found,  that,  as  nature  has 
taken  upon  herself  the  care  of  our  preservation  during 
the  infancy  of  our  reason,  so  in  every  case  in  which  our 
existence  is  threatened  by  dangers,  against  which  reason 
is  unable  to  supply  a  remedy  with  sufficient  promptitude, 
she  continues  this  guardian  care  through  the  whole  of  life. 
The  disposition  which  we  sometimes  feel,  when  under 
the  influence  of  instinctive  resentment,  to  wreak  our  ven- 
geance upon  inanimate  objects,  has  suggested  to  Dr.  Reid 
a  very  curious  query,  Whether,  upon  such  an  occasion, 
we  may  have  a  momentary  belief  that  the  object  is  alive  ? 
For  my  own  part,  I  confess  my  inclination  to  answer  this 
question  in  the  affirmative.  I  agree  with  Dr.  Reid  in 
thinking,  that,  unless  we  had  such  a  belief,  our  conduct 
could  not  possibly  be  what  it  frequently  is,  and  that  it  is 
not  till  this  momentary  belief  is  at  an  end  that  our  conduct 
appears  to  ourselves  to  be  absurd  and  ludicrous.  With 
respect  to  infants,  there  are  many  facts  beside  that  now 
under  consideration  which  render  it  probable  that  their  first 
apprehensions  lead  them  to  believe  all  the  objects  around 

The  word  art  implies  intelligence, —  the  perception  of  an  end,  and 
the  choice  of  means.  But  where  is  there  any  appearance  of  either  in 
an  operation  common  to  the  whole  species,  (not  excepting  the  idiot  and 
the  insane,)  and  which  is  practised  as  successfully  by  the  brutes  as  by 
rational  creatures  ? 

Elephants  (it  is  well  known)  were  taught  by  the  ancients  to  walk  on 
the  tight  rope,  on  which  occasions  their  trunk  probably  performed  the 
office  of  a  pole.  Whoever  has  seen  a  peacock  walk  in  a  windy  day 
along  the  branch  of  a  tree  must  have  observed  the  address  with  which 
he  avails  himself  of  his  tail  for  the  same  purpose. 

Nothing,  however,  can  place  in  a  stronger  light  the  capacity  of  the 
brutes  to  acquire  the  nice  management  of  the  centre  of  gravity  than  the 
mathematical  exactness  with  which  we  may  daily  see  horses  in  the  cir- 
cus adjusting  the  inclination  of  their  bodies  to  the  velocity  of  their  circu- 
lar speed.  Here,  indeed,  a  good  deal  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  effects  of 
human  discipline,  but  by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  groundwork  is  laid 
by  nature  in  the  instinctive  dispositions  of  the  animal.  The  acquisition 
seems  to  be  almost  as  easy  as  that  of  the  habits  which  constitute  the 
acquired  perceptions  of  sight. 

In  one  of  the  last  volumes  of  Dr.  Clarke's  Travels  there  is  a  figure 
of  a  goat,  whom  the  author  saw  standing  with  its  four  feet  collected 
together  on  the  top  of  a  cylindrical  piece  of  wood  of  a  few  inches 
diameter.  Nobody  can  doubt  that  the  effects  of  discipline  were  greatly 
facilitated  in  this  instance  by  the  natural  instincts  of  the  goat,  which 
probably  accommodated  themselves  with  very  little  instruction  to  the 
artificial  circumstances  in  which  they  were  forced  to  operate. 

8* 


90  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

them  to  be  animated,  and  that  it  is  only  in  consequence  of 
experience  and  reason  that  they  come  to  form  the  notion 
of  insentient  substances.  If  this  be  the  case,  the  illusion 
of  imagination  which  leads  us  to  ascribe  life  to  things  inani- 
mate, when  we  are  under  the  influence  of  instinctive  re- 
sentment, may  perhaps  be  owing  to  a  momentary  relapse 
into  those  apprehensions  which  were  habitually  familiar  to 
us  in  the  first  years  of  our  existence. 

But  whatever  theory  we  adopt  on  the  subject,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  about  the  fact,  that  the  final  cause  of  this  law 
of  our  nature  was  to  secure  and  guard  us  against  the  sud- 
den effects  of  external  injuries  in  cases  where  there  is  not 
time  for  deliberation  and  judgment.  With  respect  to 
the  injuries  we  are  liable  to  from  our  fellow-creatures,  it 
secures  us  further  by  its  effect  in  restraining  them  from 
acts  of  violence.  «•  "  It  is  a  kind  of  penal  statute  pro- 
mulgated by  nature,  the  execution  of  which  is  committed 
to  the  sufferer."  * 

IV.  Final  Cause  of  Deliberate  Resentment.]  In  man 
he  instinctive  resentment  subsides  as  soon  as  he  is  satis- 
fied that  no  injury  was  intended  ;  and  it  is  only  intentional 
injury  that  is  the  object  of  settled  and  deliberate  resent- 
ment. The  final  cause  of  this  species  of  resentment  is 
analogous  to  that  of  the  other,  —  to  serve  as  a  check  on 
those  men  whose  violent  or  malignant  passions  might  lead 
them  to  disturb  the  happiness  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

In  order  to  secure  still  more  effectually  so  very  im- 
portant an  end,  we  are  so  formed  that  the  injustice  offered 
to  others,  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  awakens  our  resentment 
against  the  aggressor,  and  prompts  us  to  take  part  in  the 
redress  of  their  grievances.  In  this  case  the  emotion  we 
feel  is  more  properly  denoted  in  our  language  by  the  word 
indignation  ;  but  (as  Butler  has  remarked)  our  principle 
of  action  is  in  both  cases  fundamentally  the  same,  —  an 
aversion  or  displeasure  at  injustice  and  cruelty  which 
interests  us  in  the  punishment  of  those  by  whom  they  have 
been  exhibited.  Resentment,  therefore,  when  restrained 
within  due  bounds,  seems  to  be  rather  a  sentiment  of 

*  Reid,  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  II.  Chap.  v. 


MALEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  91 

hatred  against  vice  than  an  affection  of  ill-will  against  any 
of  our  fellow-creatures  ;  and,  on  this  account,  I  am  some- 
what doubtful  (notwithstanding  the  apology  I  have  already 
made  for  the  title  of  this  section)  whether  I  have  not  fol- 
lowed Dr.  Reid  too  closely  in  characterizing  resentment, 
considered  as  an  original  part  of  the  constitution  of  man, 
by  the  epithet  of  malevolent. 

An  additional  confirmation  of  this  doctrine  arises  from  the 
following  consideration  :  —  that,  in  candid  and  generous 
minds,  the  whole  object  of  resentment  is  to  convince  the 
person  who  has  injured  them  that  he  has  treated  them 
unjustly,  —  to  show  him  that  he  has  formed  an  unfair 
estimate  of  their  characters  and  of  their  talents,  and  to 
obtain  such  a  superiority  over  him  in  point  of  power  as  to 
be  able,  by  a  generous  forgiveness  of  his  aggressions, 
to  convert  his  malice  into  gratitude.  In  other  words,  in 
such  minds  the  great  object  of  resentment  is  to  correct 
the  faults  of  the  delinquent,  and  to  make  a  friend  of  an 
enemy. 

This  last  observation  points  put  (by  the  way)  the  final 
cause  of  a  very  remarkable  circumstance  accompanying 
the  affection  of  resentment  when  excited  by  an  injury 
offered  to  ourselves.  We  desire  not  only  the  punishment 
of  the  offender,  but  that  we  should  have  the  power  of 
inflicting  the  punishment  with  our  own  hand.  It  is  proba- 
ble that  this  originates  partly  in  our  love  of  power  ;  but  I 
believe  it  is  chiefly  owing  to  a  secret  wish  of  convincing 
our  enemy,  by  the  magnanimity  of  our  conduct,  how  much 
he  had  mistaken  the  object  of  his  hatred.  In  the  mean 
and  the  malicious,  the  passion  of  revenge  is  gratified  by 
any  suffering  inflicted  on  an  enemy,  whether  by  an  indif- 
ferent person  or  by  the  hand  of  Heaven. 

After  all,  however,  that  I  have  advanced  in  justification 
of  this  part  of  the  human  constitution,  I  must  acknowledge 
that  there  is  no  principle  of  action  which  requires  more 
pains,  even  in  the  best  minds,  to  restrain  it  within  the 
bounds  of  moderation.  The  imagination  exaggerates  the 
injuries  that  we  ourselves  have  received  ;  and  mistaken 
views  of  human  nature,  concurring  with  low  spirits  or  dis- 
appointed ambition,  lead  us  to  ascribe  to  our  opponents 
worse  motives  than  those  from  which  they  really  have 


92  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

acted.  We  seldom,  too,  are  sufficiently  attentive  to  the 
situations  and  feelings  of  other  men,  and  even  where  we 
do  make  an  effort  to  place  ourselves  in  their  circumstances, 
it  is  not  every  man  who  is  possessed  of  the  degree  of 
imagination  requisite  for  that  purpose.  Our  own  suffer- 
ings, at  the  same  time,  are  always  present  to  our  view, 
and  force  themselves  on  the  notice  of  the  most  thoughtless 
without  any  effort  on  their  part.  And  hence  it  is  that  an 
irritability  to  personal  injury  is  often  accompanied  with  a 
callousness  to  the  feelings  of  others,  and  even  with  a  dis- 
position to  put  unfavorable  constructions  on  their  actions. 

V.  How  checked  and  restrained  by  Indignation  in 
Others.]  In  order  to  check  the  excesses  to  which  this 
ungovernable  passion  is  apt  to  lead  us,  nature  has  made  a 
beautiful  provision  in  that  sentiment  of  indignation  which 
the  sight  of  injustice  excites  in  the  breast  of  the  uncon- 
cerned spectator.  This  sentiment  interests  society  in 
general  in  the  cause  of  the  oppressed,  and  serves  to  pro- 
tect the  weak  against  the  wrongs  of  the  powerful.  As  it 
is  not,  however,  liable  to  the  same  excesses  with  the 
passion  of  resentment  excited  by  a  personal  injury,  it 
sympathizes  only  with  the  injured  while  his  retaliations 
are  restrained  within  the  bounds  of  moderation.  When 
resentment  rises  to  cruel  and  relentless  revenge,  uncon- 
cerned spectators  become  disposed  to  abandon  the  cause 
they  had  espoused,  and  to  transfer  their  protection  to  the 
original  aggressor. 

It  does  not  follow  from  this  observation  that  resentment 
and  indignation  are  two  distinct  principles  ;  for  the  whole 
difference  between  them  may  be  accounted  for  from  the 
different  views  we  naturally  take  of  our  own  wrongs  and 
those  of  others.  They  are  both  founded  in  a  sentiment 
of  aversion  and  ill-will  excited  by  injustice  ;  but  the  one  is 
more  apt  to  pass  the  bounds  of  moderation  than  the  other, 
in  consequence  of  the  facts  being  more  strongly  obtruded 
on  our  notice,  and  often  exaggerated  by  the  heightenings 
of  imagination. 

Mr.  Smith  has  endeavoured,  on  the  principles  now 
stated,  to  account  for  the  origin  of  our  sense  of  justice. 
The  passion  of  resentment,  he  thinks,  when  excited  by  a 


MALEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  93 

personal  injury,  would  set  no  bounds  to  its  gratification, 
but  would  lead  us  to  sacrifice  every  thing  to  revenge.  But, 
as  we  find  that  other  men  would  not  go  along  with  us  when 
our  revenge  ceases  to  bear  any  proportion  to  the  original 
injury,  we  learn  to  adjust  our  retaliations,  not  to  our  own 
feelings,  but  to  those  of  the  impartial  spectator.  Hence 
the  origin  of  our  sense  of  justice,  our  regard  for  which 
arises  from  our  desire  of  obtaining  the  sympathy  and  the 
support  of  society. 

I  shall  afterwards  state  some  objections  to  this  theory, 
which  appear  to  me  unanswerable.  In  particular,  I  shall 
attempt  to  show,  that,  so  far  is  our  idea  of  justice  from  ' 
being  posterior  to  the  affections  of  resentment  and  indigna- 
tion, and  to  a  comparison  between  our  own  feelings  and 
those  of  other  men,  that  the  very  emotion  of  deliberate 
resentment  presupposes  the  idea  of  justice,  and  of  what  is 
morally  right  and  wrong.  The  fact,  however,  on  which 
the  theory  proceeds  is  a  most  important  one,  and  Mr. 
Smith  has  had  great  merit  in  illustrating  it  so  fully.  Lord 
Kames,  in  his  Historical  Law  Tracts,  has  made  a  happy 
application  of  it  to  explain  the  origin  and  progress  of 
criminal  law.  Which  of  these  two  authors  first  conceived 
the  idea  of  applying  it  to  jurisprudence  does  not  appear 
to  me  to  be  perfectly  certain.  Both  of  them  have  evi- 
dently been  much  indebted  in  their  speculations  concern- 
ing this  part  of  human  nature  to  the  Sermons  of  Bishop 
Butler. 

VI.  Jill  the  Malevolent  Affections  attended  by  a  Sense 
of  Pain.]  I  shall  conclude  this  subject  at  present  with 
remarking,  that,  as  all  the  benevolent  affections  are  ac- 
companied with  pleasant  emotions,  so  all  the  malevolent 
affections  are  sources  of  pain  and  disquiet.  This  is  true 
even  of  resentment,  how  justly  soever  it  may  be  roused 
by  the  injurious  conduct  of  others.  Here,  too,  we  may 
perceive  a  final  cause  perfectly  analogous  to  that  of  which 
I  formerly  took  notice  in  treating  of  the  benevolent  affec- 
tions. As  the  pleasant  emotion  accompanying  these  seems 
evidently  to  have  been  intended  as  an  incitement  to  us  to 
cultivate  and  cherish  them,  so  the  painful  feeling  accom- 
panying resentment,  and  every  other  affection  which  is 


94  INSTINCTIVE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 

hostile  to  our  fellow-creatures,  serves  as  a  check  on  the 
habitual  indulgence  of  them,  and  induces  us,  as  soon  as 
the  first  impulse  of  passion  is  over,  and  reason  begins  to 
reassume  her  empire,  to  obliterate  every  trace  of  them 
from  the  memory.  Dr.  Reid  has  expressed  this  last  ob- 
servation with  great  beauty,  and  has  enforced  it  with  un- 
common felicity  of  illustration.  *"  When  we  consider  that, 
on  the  one  hand,  every  benevolent  affection  is  pleasant  in 
its  nature,  is  health  to  the  soul  and  a  cordial  to  the  spirits  ; 
that  nature  has  made  even  the  outward  expression  of 
benevolent  affections  in  the  countenance  pleasant  to  every 
'  beholder,  and  the  chief  ingredient  of  beauty  in  the  human 
face  divine  ;  that,  on  the  other  hand,  every  malevolent 
affection,  not  only  in  its  faulty  excesses,  but  in  its  moder- 
ate degrees,  is  vexation  and  disquiet  to  the  mind,  and 
even  gives  deformity  to  the  countenance,  it  is  evident  that 
by  these  signals  nature  loudly  admonishes  us  to  use  the 
former  as  our  daily  bread,  both  for  health  and  pleasure, 
but  to  consider  the  latter  as  a  nauseous  medicine,  which  is 
never  to  be  taken  without  necessity,  and  even  then  in  no 
greater  quantity  than  the  necessity  requires."* 

After  the  clear,  and,  at  the  same  time,  cautious  terms 
in  which  Butler,  Kames,and  Smith  have  expressed  them- 
selves concerning  resentment,  it  is  surprising  to  find  some 
late  writers  of  considerable  name  speaking  of  the  pleasure 
of  revenge  as  a  natural  gratification,  of  which  every  man 
is  entitled  to  look  forward  to  the  enjoyment  ;  and  which, 
after  the  establishment  of  the  political  union,  every  man 
has  a  right  to  insist  upon  at  the  hands  of  the  civil  mag- 
istrate. Such,  in  particular,  seems  to  be  the  opinion 
of  Mr.  Bentham,  and  of  his  very  ingenious  and  eloquent 
commentator,  M.  Dumont  :  — 

"Every  species  of  satisfaction  naturally  brings  in  its 
train  a  punishment  to  the  defendant,  a  pleasure  of  ven- 
geance for  the  party  injured.  This  pleasure  is  a  gain  :  it 
recalls  the  riddle  of  Samson  ;  it  is  the  sweet  which  comes 
out  of  the  strong  ;  it  is  the  honey  gathered  from  the  car- 
cass of  the  lion.  Produced  without  expense,  net  result  of 
an  operation  necessary  on  other  accounts,  it  is  an  enjoy- 

*  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  II.  Chap.  vi. 


MALEVOLENT    AFFECTIONS.  95 

ment  to  be  cultivated  as  well  as  any  other ;  for  the  pleasure 
of  vengeance,  considered  abstractedly,  is,  like  every  other 
pleasure,  only  good  in  itself.  It  is  innocent  so  long  as  it 
is  confined  within  the  limits  of  the  laws  ;  it  becomes  crimi- 
nal at  the  moment  it  breaks  them Useful  to  the 

individual,  this  motive  is  also  useful  to  the  public,  or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  necessary.  It  is  this  vindictive 
satisfaction  which  often  unties  the  tongue  of  the  witnesses  ; 
it  is  this  which  generally  animates  the  breast  of 'the  accuser, 
and  engages  him  in  the  service  of  justice,  notwithstanding 
the  trouble,  the  expenses,  the  enmities,  to  which  it  exposes 
him  ;  it  is  this  which  overcomes  the  public  pity  in  the 
punishment  of  the  guilty 

"  Some  commonplace  moralists,  always  the  dupes  of 
words,  cannot  understand  this  truth.  '  The  desire  of  ven- 
geance is  odious  ;  all  satisfaction  drawn  from  this  source 
is  vicious  ;  forgiveness  of  injuries  is  the  noblest  of  virtues.' 
Doubtless,  implacable  characters,  whom  no  satisfaction 
can  soften,  are  hateful,  and  ought  to  be  so.  The  forgive- 
ness of  injuries  is  a  virtue  necessary  to  humanity  ;  but  it  is 
only  a  virtue  when  justice  has  done  its  work,  when  it  has 
furnished  or  refused  a  satisfaction.  Before  this,  to  forgive 
injuries  is  to  invite  their  perpetration,  —  is  to  be,  not  the 
friend,  but  the  enemy  of  society.  What  could  wickedness 
desire  more  than  an  arrangement  by  which  offences  should 
be  always  followed  by  pardon  ?  "  * 

The  observations  above  quoted  from  Butler,  Reid, 
and  Smith  will  at  once  point  out  the  limitations  with 
which  this  passage  must  be  understood,  and  will  furnish  a 
triumphant  reply  to  it  where  it  departs  from  the  truth. f 

*  Bentham's  Principles  of  Penal  Law,  Part  I.  Chap.  xvi.  The 
French  translation  by  M.  Dumont  was  published  before  the  original, 
and  was  quoted  by  Mr.  Stewart.  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  substitute 
the  original,  which  has  since  appeared.  —  ED. 

t  To  the  works  already  cited  or  referred  to  in  this  and  the  preceding 
chapters  as  illustrating  what  Mr.  Stewart  calls  the  Instinctive  Principles 
of  Action  should  be  added  Brown's  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind, 
Lect.  LXV.-LXXII.  Cogan's  Philosophical  Treatise  on  the  Passions. 
Ranch's  Psychology,  Part  II.  Sect.  II.  Damiron,  Psychologic,  Sect.  II. 
Chap.  ii.  —  ED. 


BOOK    II. 

OF  OUR  RATIONAL*   AND   GOVERNING   PRINCIPLES 
OF  ACTION. 


CHAPTER    I.     $ 

OF  A  PRUDENTIAL  REGARD  TO  OUR  OWN  HAPPINESS, 
OR  WHAT  IS  COMMONLY  CALLED  BY  MORALISTS 
THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  SELF-LOVE. 

I.  Difference  between  the  Jlnimal  and  Rational  Na- 
tures.] The  constitution  of  man,  if  it  were  composed 
merely  of  the  active  principles  hitherto  mentioned,  would, 
in  some  important,  respects,  be  analogous  to  that  of  the 
brutes.  His  reason,  however,  renders  his  nature  and 
condition,  on  the  whole,  essentially  different  from  theirs  ; 
and,  by  elevating  him  to  the  rank  of  a  moral  agent,  dis- 
tinguishes him  from  the  lower  animals  still  more  remarka- 
bly than  by  the  superiority  it  imparts  to  his  intellectual  en- 
dowments. 

Of  this  want  of  reason  in  the  brutes,  it  is  an  obvious 
result,  that  they  are  incapable  of  looking  forward  to  conse- 
quences, or  of  comparing  together  the  different  gratifica- 
tions of  which  they  are  susceptible  ;  and,  accordingly,  as 
far  as  we  can  perceive,  they  yield  to  every  present  im- 
pulse. Among  the  inhabitants  of  this  globe  it  is  the  ex- 

*  To  various  active  principles  which  have  been  already  under  our 
consideration,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  desire  of  knowledge,  the  desire 
of  esteem,  pity  to  the  distressed,  &c.,  &c.,  the  epithet  rational  may  un- 
doubtedly be  applied  in  one  sense  with  propriety,  as  they  exclusively 
belong  to  rational  beings;  but  they  are  yet  of  a  nature  essentially  dif- 
ferent from  those  active  principles  of  which  we  are  now  to  treat,  and 
which  I  have  distinguished  by  the  title  of  Rational  and  Governing.  My 
reasons  for  using  this  language  will  appear  from  the  sequel. 


SELF-LOVE.  97 

elusive  prerogative  of  man,  as  an  intelligent  being,  to  take 
a  comprehensive  survey  of  his  various  principles  of  action, 
and  to  form  plans  of  conduct  for  the  attainment  of  his 
favorite  objects.  He  is  possessed,  therefore,  of  the 
power  of  self-government ;  for  how  could  a  plan  of  con- 
duct be  conceived  and  carried  into  execution  without  a 
power  of  refusing  occasionally  to  particular  active  prin- 
ciples the  gratification  which  they  demand  ?  This  dif- 
ference between  the  animal  and  the  rational  natures  is 
well  and  concisely  described  by  Seneca  in  the  following 
words  :  —  "Jlnimalibus  pro  ratione  impetus  ;  homini  pro 
impetu  ratio."  * 

According  to  the  particular  active  principle  which  influ- 
ences habitually  a  man's  conduct,  his  character  receives 
its  denomination  of  covetous,  ambitious,  studious,  or  vo- 
luptuous ;  and  his  conduct  is  more  or  less  systematical 
as  he  adheres  to  his  general  plan  with  steadiness  or  incon- 
stancy. 

IT.  Importance  of  Self-control  and  of  systematic  and 
concentrated  Action.]  It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to 
remark  how  much  a  man's  success  in  his  favorite  pursuit 
depends  on  the  systematical  steadiness  with  which  he  keeps 
his  object  in  view.  That  an  uncommon  measure  of  this 
quality  often  supplies,  to  a  great  degree,  the  place  of 
genius,  and  that,  where  it  is  wanting,  the  most  splendid 
endowments  are  of  little  value,  are  facts  which  have  been 
often  insisted  on  by  philosophers,  and  which  are  confirmed 
to  us  by  daily  experience.  The  effects  of  this  concen- 
tration of  the  attention  to  one  particular  end  on  the  de- 
velopment and  improvement  of  the  intellectual  powers 
in  general  have  not  been  equally  taken  notice  of.  They 
are,  however,  extremely  remarkable,  as  every  person  will 
readily  acknowledge,  who  compares  the  sagacity  and 
penetration  of  those  individuals  who  have  enjoyed  its  ad- 
vantages with  the  weakness  and  incapacity  and  dissipation 
of  thought  produced  by  an  undecided  choice  among  the 
various  pursuits  which  human  life  presents  to  us.  Even 
the  systematical  voluptuary,  while  he  commands  a  much 

*  Seneca,  De  Ira,  II.  16.  "  Animals  have  impulse  for  reason  ;  man, 
reason  for  impulse." 

9 


98  SELF-LOVE. 

greater  variety  of  sensual  indulgences,  and  continues  them 
to  a  much  more  advanced  age  than  the  thoughtless  profli- 
gate, seldom  fails  to  give  .a  certain  degree  of  cultivation  to 
his  understanding,  by  employing  his  faculties  habitually  in 
one  direction. 

The  only  exception,  perhaps,  which  can  be  mentioned 
to  this  last  remark,  occurs  in  the  case  of  those  men  whose 
leading  principle  of  action  is  vanity,  and  who,  as  their 
rule  of  conduct  is  borrowed  from  without,  must,  in  conse- 
quence of  this  very  circumstance,  be  perpetually  wavering 
and  inconsistent  in  their  pursuits.  Accordingly,  it  will  be 
found  that  such  men,  although  they  have  frequently  per- 
formed splendid  actions,  have  seldom  risen  to  eminence  in 
any  one  particular  career,  unless  when,  by  a  rare  concur- 
rence of  accidental  circumstances,  this  career  has  been 
steadily  pointed  out  to  them,  through  the  whole  of  their 
lives,  by  public  opinion. 

"  Alcibiades,"  says  a  French  writer,  "  was  a  man  not 
of  ambition,  but  of  vanity,  —  a  man  whose  ruling  passion 
was  to  make  a  noise,  and  to  furnish  matter  of  conversation 
to  the  Athenians.  He  possessed  the  genius  of  a  great 
man,  but  his  soul>  the  springs  of  which  were  too  much 
slackened  to  urge  him  to  constant  application,  could  not 
elevate  him,  but  by  starts,  to  pursuits  worthy  of  his  powers. 
I  can  scarcely  bring  myself  to  believe  that  a  man,  whose 
versatility  was  such  as  to  enable  him,  when  in  Sparta,  to 
assume  the  severe  manners  of  a  Spartan,  and,  when  in 
Ionia,  to  indulge  in  the  refined  voluptuousness  of  an 
Ionian,  had  received  from  nature  the  stamina  of  a  great 
character."  * 

To  what  has  been  now  observed  in  favor  of  systemati- 
cal views  in  the  conduct  of  life  it  may  be  added,  that  they 
are  incomparably  more  conducive  to  happiness  than  a 
course  of  action  influenced  merely  by  occasional  inclination 
and  appetite.  Lord  Shaftesbury  goes  so  far  as  to  assert, 
that  even  the  man  who  is  uniformly  and  systematically  bad 
enjoys  more  happiness  (perhaps  he  would  have  been  nearer 
the  truth  if  he  had  contented  himself  with  saying  that  he 
suffers  less  misery)  than  one  of  a  more  mixed  and  more 

*  Quoted  by  Warburton  in  his  note  on  Pope's  character  of  the  Duke 
of  Wharton,  Moral  Essays,  Ep.  1. 190. 


SELF-LOVE.  99 

inconsistent  character.  "It  is  the  thorough  profligate 
knave  alone,  the  complete  unnatural  villain,  who  can  any 
way  bid  for  happiness  with  the  honest  man.  True  interest 
is  wholly  on  one  side  or  on  the  other.  All  hetween  is 
inconsistency,  irresolution,  remorse,  vexation,  and  an  ague 
fit,  —  from  hot  to  cold,  —  from  one  passion  to  another 
quite  contrary, —  a  perpetual  discord  of  life,  and  an  alter- 
nate disquiet  and  self-dislike.  The  only  rest  or  repose 
must  be  through  one  determined  considerate  resolution, 
which,  when  once  taken,  must  be  courageously  kept,  and 
the  passions  and  affections  brought  under  obedience  to  it, 
—  the  temper  steeled  and  hardened  to  the  mind,  —  the 
disposition  to  the  judgment.  Both  must  agree,  else  all 
must  be  disturbance  and  confusion."  * 
To  the  same  purpose  Horace  :  — 

"Quanto  constantior  idem 
In  viliis,  tanto  levior  miser,  ac  prior  illo 
Q,ui  jam  contento,  jam  laxo  fune  laboret."  t 

III.  Examples  of  the  Evils  of  Inconstancy.']  Of  the 
state  of  a  mind  originally  possessed  of  the  most  splendid 
endowments,  but  where  every  thing  had  been  suffered  to 
run  into  anarchy  from  the  want  of  some  controlling  and 
steady  principle  of  action,  a  masterly  picture  is  drawn  by 
Cicero  in  the  following  account  of  Catiline. 

"  Utebatur  hominibus  improbis  multis,  et  quidem  op- 
timis  se  viris  deditum  esse  simulabat ;  erant  apud  ilium 
illecebrse  libidinurn  multae  ;  erant  etiam  industriae  quidam 
stimuli  ac  laboris  :  flagrabant  libidinis  vitia  apud  ilium  ; 
vigebant  etiam  studia  rei  militaris  :  neque  ego  unquam 
fuisse  tale  monstrum  in  terris  ullum  puto,  tarn  ex  contrariis 
diversisque  inter  se  pugnantibus  nature  studiis  cupiditati- 
busque  conflatum.  Quis  clarioribus  viris  quodarn  tern- 
pore  jucundior  ?  quis  turpioribus  conjunctior  ?  quis  civis 
meliorum  partium  aliquando  ?  quis  tetrior  hostis  huic 
civitati  ?  quis  in  voluptatibus  inquinatior  ?  quis  in  labori- 

*  Essay  on  the  Freedom  of  Wit  and  Humor,  Part  IV.  Sect.  1. 

t  Ilor  ,  Sermo.,  Lib.  II.,  Sat.  VII.  18. 

"  So  constant  was  he  to  his  darling  vice, 
Yet  less  a  wretch  than  he  who  now  maintains 
A  steady  course,  now  drives  with  looser  reins." 


100  SELF-LOVE. 

bus  patientior  ?  quis  in  rapacitate  avarior  ?  quis  in  largi- 
tione  effusion  ?  "  * 

In  a  person  of  this  description,  whatever  indications  of 
genius  and  ability  he  may  discover,  and  whatever  may  be 
the  great  qualities  he  possesses,  there  is  undoubtedly  some 
tendency  to  insanity,  which,  if  it  were  not  the  radical 
source  of  the  evil,  could  hardly  fail,  sooner  or  later,  to  be 
the  effect  of  a  perpetual  conflict  between  different  and 
discordant  passions.  And,  accordingly,  this  is  the  idea 
which  Sallust  seems  to  have  formed  of  this  extraordinary 
man.  "  His  eyes,"  he  observes,  "  had  a  disagreeable 
glare  ;  his  complexion  was  pale  ;  his  walk  sometimes 
quick,  sometimes  slow  ;  and  his  general  appearance  indi- 
cated a  discomposure  of  mind  approaching  to  madness." 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  insinuate  by  this  last  ob- 
servation, that,  in  every  case  in  which  we  observe  a  con- 
duct apparently  inconsistent  and  irregular,  we  are  entitled 
to  conclude,  all  at  once,  that  it  proceeds  from  accidental 
humor,  or  from  a  disordered  understanding.  The  knowl- 
edge of  a  man's  ruling  passion  is  often  a  key  to  what  ap- 
peared, on  a  superficial  view,  to  be  perfectly  inexplicable. 
Some  excellent  reflections  on  this  subject  are  to  be  found 
in  the  first  of  Pope's  Moral  Essays,  where  they  are  most 
happily  and  forcibly  illustrated  by  the  character  of  the 
Duke  of  Wharton. 

"  Search,  then,  the  ruling  passion  :  there  alone 
«•        The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning  known; 
The  fool  consistent,  and  the  false  sincere  ; 
Priests,  princes,  women,  no  dissemhlers  here. 
This  clew  once  found  unravels  all  the  rest, 
The  prospect  clears,  and  Wharton  stands  confessed. 
Wharton.  the  scorn  and  wonder  of  our  days, 
Whose  ruling  passion  was  the  lust  of  praise. 

*  Oratio  pro  M.  Ccelio,  Sect.  V.  and  VI.  "  lie  was  acquainted  with  a 
great  number  of  wicked  men,  yet  a  pretended  admirer  of  the  virtuous. 
His  house  was  furnished  with  a  variety  of  temptations  to  lust  and  lewd- 
ness,  yet  with  several  incitements  also  to  industry  and  labor :  it  was  a 
scene  of  vicious  pleasures,  yet  a  school  of  martial  exercises.  There 
never  was  such  a  monster  on  earth,  compounded  of  passions  so  contrary 
and  opposite.  Who  was  ever  more  agreeable  at  one  time  to  the  best 
citizens?  who  more  intimate  at  another  with  the  worst?  who  a  man  of 
better  professions  ?  who  a  fouler  enemy  to  this  city  ?  who  more  intem- 
perate in  pleasure?  who  more  patient  in  labor?  who  more  rapacious  iu 
plundering?  who  more  profuse  in  squandering  ?  " 


SELF-LOVE.  101 

Born  with  vvhate'er  could  win  it  from   the  wise, 
Women  and  fools  must  like  him,  or  lie  dies. 

Ask  you  why  Wharton  broke  through  every  rule? 
'T  was  all  for  fear  the  knaves  should  call  him  fool. 
Nature  well  known,  no  prodigies  remain, 
Comets  are  regular  and   Wharton  plain." 

I  have  only  to  add  to  these  observations  of  Pope,  that  I 
believe  the  inconsistencies  he  describes  are  chiefly  to  be 
found  in  the  conduct  of  men  whose  ruling  principle  of  ac- 
tion is  vanity.  I  have  already  remarked,  that  while  every 
other  principle  which  gains  an  ascendant  over  the  rest  has 
a  tendency  to  systematize  our  course  of  action,  vanity  has, 
on  the  contrary,  a  tendency  to  disorganize  it,  leading  us 
always  to  look  abroad  for  our  rule  of  conduct,  and  thereby 
rendering  it  as  wavering  and  inconsistent  as  the  opinions 
and  fashions  of  mankind.  Where  vanity,  therefore,  is 
the  ruling  passion  of  any  individual,  a  want  of  system 
may  be  regarded  as  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  gen- 
eral character. 

IV.  Why  the  Desire  of  Happiness  should  be  accounted 
a  Rational  and  not  an  Instinctive  Principle  of  Action.] 
From  the  foregoing  considerations  it  sufficiently  appears 
how  much  the  nature  of  man  is  discriminated  from  that  of 
the  brutes,  in  consequence  of  the  comprehensive  view 
which  his  reason  enables  him  to  take  of  his  different  prin- 
ciples of  action,  and  of  the  deliberate  choice  he  has  it  in 
his  power  to  make  of  the  general  plan  of  conduct  he  is  to 
pursue.  There  is  another,*however,  and  a  very  important 
respect,  in  which  the  rational  nature  differs  from  the  ani- 
mal, —  that  it  is  able  to  form  the  notion  of  happiness,  or 
what  is  good  for  it  upon  the  whole,  and  to  deliberate  about 
the  most  effectual  means  of  attaining  it.  It  is  owing  to 
this  distinguishing  prerogative  of  our  species  that  we  can 
avail  ourselves  of  our  past  experience  in  avoiding  those 
enjoyments  which  we  know  will  be  succeeded  by  suffer- 
ing, and  in  submitting  to  lesser  evils  which  we  know  are 
to  be  instrumental  in  procuring  us  a  greater  accession  of 
good.  "  Sed  inter  hominem  et  belluam,"  says  Cicero, 
"hoc  maxime  interest,  quod  hsec  tantum  quantum  sensu 
movetur,  ad  id  solum  quod  adest,  quodque  prasens  est,  se 
9* 


102  SELF-LOVE. 

accommodat,  paullulum  admodum  sentiens  prseteritum  aut 
futurum.  Homo  aulem,  quoniam  rationis  est  particeps, 
per  quam  consequentia  cernit,  causas  rerutn  videt,  ea- 
rumque  praegressus  et  antecessiones  non  ignorat ;  similitu- 
dines  comparat,  et  rebus  prsesentibus  adjungit  atque  an- 
nectit  futuras  ;  facile  totius  vitse  cursum  videt,  ad  eamque 
degendam  prasparat  res  necessarias."  * 

It  is  implied  in  the  very  idea  of  happiness  that  it  is  a 
desirable  object,  and  therefore  self-love  is  an  active  prin- 
ciple very  different  from  those  which  have  been  hitherto 
considered.  These,  for  aught  we  know,  may  be  the 
effect  of  arbitrary  appointment,  and  they  have  accordingly 
been  called  implanted  principles,  or  principles  resulting 
from  a  positive  accommodation  of  the  constitution  of  man 
to  the  objects  with  which  he  is  surrounded.  The  desire 
of  happiness  may  be  called  a  rational  principle  of  action, 
being  peculiar  to  a  rational  nature,  and  inseparably  con- 
nected with  it.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  being  capa- 
ble of  forming  the  notions  of  happiness  and  misery,  to 
whom  the  one  shall  not  be  an  object  of  desire,  and  the 
other  of  aversion. f 

V.  Objections  to  the  Term  Self-love. ]  In  prefixing 
to  this  chapter  the  title  of  Self-love,  the' ordinary  language 
of  modern  philosophy  has  been  followed,  as  I  am  always 

*  De  Off.,  Lib.  I.  4.  "  But  between  man  and  the  lower  animals  there 
is  in  other  respects  the  greatest  difference.  The  latter,  guided  by  the 
impulse  of  their  senses  alone,  are  confined  to  what  is  present,  or  near, 
with  a  very  slight  knowledge  of  the  past  or  the  future.  Man,  however, 
who  partakes  of  reason,  distinguishes  the  causes  and  the  consequences 
of  events,  observes  their  progress,  compares  similar  circumstances,  con- 
nects the  past  with  the  future,  surveys  the  whole  course  of  life,  and 
makes  the  necessary  provision  for  its  well-being." 

t  From  this  constitution  of  the  human  mind,  as  at  once  sensitive  and 
rational,  arise  necessarily  the  emotions  of  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  sorrow. 
The  pleasurable  emotion  arising  from  good  in  expectation  is  called  hope, 
the  painful  emotion  arising  from  apprehended  evil  is  called  fear.  The 
words  joy  and  sorrow  are  more  general,  applicable  alike  to  the  emotions 
arising  from  the  experience  and  from  the  apprehension  of  good  and  of 
evil.  The  interest  which  our  benevolent  affections  give  us  in  the  con- 
cerns of  others  inspires  us  (more  particularly  in  the  case  of  those  to 
whom  we  are  fondly  attached)  with  emotions  analogous  to  those  which 
have  a  reference  to  our  own  condition. 

The  laws  which  regulate  these  emotions  connected  with  the  sensi- 
tive nature  of  man  deserve  a  careful  examination  ;  but  the  subject  does 
not  fall  under  the  present  part  of  my  plan. 


SELF-LOVE.  103 

anxious  to  avoid  unnecessary  innovations  in  the  use  of 
words.  The  expression,  however,  is  exceptionable,  for 
it  suggests  an  analogy  (where  there  is  none  in  fact)  be- 
tween that  regard  which  every  rational  being  must  neces- 
sarily have  to  his  own  happiness  and  those  benevolent 
affections  which  attach  us  to  our  fellow-creatures.  There 
is  surely  nothing  in  the  former  of  these  principles  analo- 
gous to  the  affection  of  love  ;  and,  therefore,  to  call  it 
by  the  appellation  of  self-love  is  to  suggest  a  theory  with 
respect  to  its  nature,  and  a  theory  which  has  no  founda- 
tion in  truth. 

The  word  cpdnvrla  was  used  among  the  Greeks  nearly 
in  the  same  sense,  and  introduced  similar  inaccuracies  into 
their  reasonings  concerning  the  principle  of  morals.  In 
our  language,  however,  the  impropriety  does  not  stop  here  ; 
for  not  only  is  the  phrase  self-love  used  as  synonymous 
with  the  desire  of  happiness,  but  it  is  often  confounded  (in 
consequence  of  an  unfortunate  connection  in  their  etymol- 
ogy) with  the  word  selfishness,  which  certainly,  in  strict 
propriety,  denotes  a  very  different  disposition  of  mind. 
In  proof  of  this  it  is  sufficient  to  observe,  that  the  word* 
selfishness  is  always  used  in  an  unfavorable  sense,  whereas 
self-love,  or  the  desire  of  happiness,  is  inseparable  from 
our  nature  as  rational  and  sensitive  beings. 

The  mistaken  notion  that  vice  consists  in  an  excessive 
self-love  naturally  arose  from  the  application  of  the  term 
self-love,  or  cpdavila,  to  express  the  desire  of  happiness. 
As  benevolence,  or  the  lore  of  mankind,  constitutes,  in 
the  opinion  of  many  moralists,  the  whole  of  virtue,  so  it 
was  not  unnatural  to  conclude  that  the  love  of  ourselves 
(which  this  mode  of  speaking  seems  to  contrast  with  be- 
nevolence) was  the  radical  source  of  all  the  vices.  And, 
accordingly,  this  conclusion  has  been  adopted  by  many 
writers,  both  ancient  and  modern.  "  If  we  scan,"  says 
Dr.  Barrow,  "  the  particular  nature,  and  search  into  the 
original  causes  of  the  several  kinds  of  naughty  dispositions 
in  our  souls,  and  of  miscarriages  in  our  lives,  we  shall  find 
inordinate  self-love  to  be  a  main  ingredient,  and  a  common 
source  of  them  all,  so  that  a  divine  of  great  name  had 
some  reason  to  affirm  that  original  sin  (or  that  innate 
distemper  from  which  men  generally  become  so  very 


104  SELF-LOVE. 

prone  to  evil  and  averse  to  good)  doth  consist  in  self-love 
disposing  us  to  all  kinds  of  irregularity  and  excess."  *  In 
this  passage,  Dr.  Barrow  refers  to  the  opinion  of  Zuin- 
glius,  who  has  expressly  called  self-love  the  original  or 
radical  sin  in  our  nature.  "  Est  ergo  ista  ad  peccandum 
amore  sui  propensio,  peecatum  originate. " 

It  is  chiefly,  however,  from  some  of  our  English  moral- 
ists that  this  notion  concerning  the  nature  of  vice  has 
derived  its  authority  ;  and  the  plausibility  of  their  reason- 
ings on  the  subject  has  been  much  aided  by  that  indis- 
criminate use  of  the  words  self-love  and  selfishness  of 
which  I  have  already  taken  notice. 

I  shall  afterwards  have  occasion  to  show  that  vice  does 
not  consist  in  an  excessive  regard  to  our  own  happiness. 
At  present  I  shall  only  remark,  in  addition  to  what  was 
said  above  with  respect  to  the  distinction  between  the 
meanings  of  the  words  self-love  and  selfishness,  that  the 
former  is  so  far  from  expressing  any  thing  blamable,  that 
it  denotes  a  principle  of  action  which  we  never  sacrifice  to 
any  of  our  implanted  appetites,  desires,  or  affections  with- 
out incurring  remorse  and  self-condemnation.  When  we 
see,  for  example,  a  man  enslaved  by  his  animal  appetites, 
so  far  from  considering  him  as  under  the  influence  of  an 
excessive  self-love,  we  pity  and  despise  him  for  neglecting 
the  higher  enjoyments  which  are  placed  within  his  reach. 
Accordingly,  those  very  authors  who  tell  us  that  vice  con- 
sists in  an  inordinate  self-love  are  forced  to  confess  that 
there  are  some  senses  of  the  word  in  which  it  expresses  a 
worthy  and  commendable  principle  of  action.  "Reason," 
says  Dr.  Barrow,  "  dictateth  and  prescribeth  to  us,  that 
we  should  have  a  sober  regard  to  our  true  good  and  wel- 
fare ;  to  our  best  interest  and  solid  content  ;  to  that 
which  (all  things  being  rightly  stated,  considered,  and  com- 
puted) will  in  the  end  prove  most  beneficial  and  satisfac- 
tory to  us  ;  a  self-love  working  in  prosecution  of  such 
things,  common  sense  cannot  but  allow  and  approve."  *  — 
"  Tov  fi£i>  aya&ov,"  says  Aristotle,  "  du  (fikavrov  *wxi." 
And  in  another  passage  of  the  same  chapter,  "z/o'|m  <5'  «V 
6  rotoi/ros  jO«AAor  tlrai  qp/Awuroc."  f 

*  Sermon,  On  Self-Love  in  general. 

t  Ethic.  JVic.,  Lib.  IX.  Cap.  viii.     "A  good  man  must  be  a  lover  of 
himself."     "  Such  a  man  would  seem  to  be  the  greatest  of  self-lovers." 


SELF-LOVE.  105 

As  a  further  proof  that  selfishness  is  not  synonymous 
with  the  desire  of  happiness,  it  may  be  observed,  that, 
although  we  apply  the  epithet  selfish  to  avarice  and  to 
low  private  sensuality,  we  never  apply  it  to  the  desire  of 
knowledge  or  to  the  pursuits  of  virtue,  which  are  certainly 
sources  of  more  exquisite  pleasure  than  riches  or  sensuality 
can  bestow. 

"  Yet  at  the  darkened  eye,  the  withered  face, 
The  hoary  head,  I  never  will  repine  : 
But  spare,  O  time  !  whate'er  of  mental  grace, 
Of  candor,  love,  or  sympathy  divine, 
Whate'er  of  fancy's  ray,  or  friendship's  flame,  was  mine." 

Such  a  wish  is  surely  dictated  by  the  most  rational  view 
of  our  real  interest  ;  and  yet  no  man  will  pretend  that  it 
contains  any  thing  inconsistent  with  a  generous  and  heroic 
mind.  Had  it  been  directed  to  wealth,  to  long  life,  or 
to  the  preservation  of  youthful  beauty  and  vigor,  it  would 
have  been  universally  condemned  as  selfish  and  con- 
temptible. 

)( 

VI.  Why  some  Pursuits  are  called  Selfish,  while  oth- 
ers, though  contributing  still  more  to  our  own  Good,  are 
not.]  This  restriction  of  the  term  selfishness  to  a  par- 
ticular class  of  human  pursuits  is  taken  notice  of  by  Dr. 
Ferguson  in  his  Essay  on  Civil  Society,  and  seems  to  be 
considered  by  him  as  originating  in  a  capricious,  or  rather 
in  an  inconsistent,  use  of  language.  "  It  is  somewhat 
remarkable,  that,  notwithstanding  men  value  themselves  so 
much  on  qualities  of  the  mind,  on  parts,  learning,  and  wit, 
on  courage,  generosity,  and  honor,  those  men  are  still  sup- 
posed to  be  in  the  highest  degree  selfish,  or  attentive  to 
themselves,  who  are  most  careful  about  animal  life,  and 
who  are  least  mindful  of  rendering  that  life  an  object 
worthy  of  care.  It  will  be  difficult,  however,  to  tell  why 
a  good  understanding,  a  resolute  and  generous  mind, 
should  not,  by  every  man  in  his  senses,  be  reckoned  as 
much  parts  of  himself  as  either  his  stomach  or  his  palate, 
and  much  more  than  his  estate  or  his  dress.  The  epicure 
who  consults  his  physician  how  he  may  restore  his  relish 
for  food,  and,  by  creating  an  appetite,  renew  his  enjoy- 
ment, might  at  least,  with  an  equal  regard  to  himself,  con- 


106  SELF-LOVE. 

suit  how  he  might  strengthen  his  affection  to  a  parent  or  a 
child,  to 'his  country  or  to  mankind  ;  and  it  is  probable 
that  an  appetite  of  this  sort  would  prove  a  source  of  en- 
joyment no  less  than  the  former."  * 

Of  the  difficulty  here  remarked  by  Dr.  Ferguson,  the 
solution  appears  to  me  to  be  this,  that  the  word  selfishness, 
when  applied  to  a  pursuit,  has  no  reference  to  the  motive 
from  which  the  pursuit  proceeds,  but  to  the  effect  it  has  on 
the  conduct.  Neither  our  animal  appetites,  nor"  avarice, 
nor  curiosity,  nor  the  desire  of  moral  improvement,  arise 
from  self-love,  but  some  of  these  active  principles  discon- 
nect us  with  society  more  than  others  ;  and  consequently, 
though  they  do  not  indicate  a  greater  regard  for  our  own 
happiness,  they  betray  a  greater  unconcern  about  the  hap- 
piness of  our  neighbours.  The  pursuits  of  the  miser  have 
no  mixture  whatever  of  the  social  affections  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  continually  lead  him  to  state  his  own  interest 
in  opposition  to  that  of  other  men.  The  enjoyments  of 
the  sensualist  all  expire  within  his  own  person  ;  and, 
therefore,  whoever  is  habitually  occupied  in  the  search  of 
them  must  of  necessity  neglect  the  duties  which  he  owes 
to  mankind.  It  is  otherwise  with  the  desire  of  knowledge, 
which  is  always  accompanied  with  a  strong  desire  of  social 
communication,  and  with  the  love  of  moral  excellence, 
which,  in  its  practical  tendency,  coincides  so  remarkably 
with  benevolence,  that  many  authors  have  attempted  to 
resolve  the  one  principle  into  the  other.  How  far  their 
conclusion,  in  this  instance,  is  a  necessary  consequence  of 
the  premises  from  which  it  is  deduced  will  appear  here- 
after. 

The  foregoing  observations  coincide  so  remarkably 
with  a  passage  in  Aristotle's  Ethics,  that  I  am  tempted  to 
quote  it  at  length  in  the  excellent  English  translation  of 
Dr.  Gillies.  After  stating  the  same  inconsistencies  in 
our  language  about  self-love  which  Dr.  Ferguson  has 
pointed  out,  Aristotle  proceeds  thus  :  — 

"  These  contradictions  cannot  be  reconciled  but  by  dis- 
tinguishing the  different  senses  in  which  man  is  said  to  love 
himself.  Those  who  reproach  self-love  as  a  vice  con- 

*  Part  I.  Sect.  II. 


SELF-LOVE.  107 

sider  it  only  as  it  appears  in  worldlings  and  voluptuaries, 
who  arrogate  to  themselves  more  than  their  due'share  of 
wealth,  power,  or  pleasure.  Such  things  are  to  the  mul- 
titude the  objects  of  earnest  concern  and  eager  contention, 
because  the  multitude  regards  them  as  prizes  of  the  highest 
value,  and,  in  endeavouring  to  attain  them,  strives  to 
gratify  its  passion  at  the  expense  of  its  reason.  This 
kind  of  self-love,  which  belongs  to  the  contemptible  mul- 
titude, is  doubtless  obnoxious  to  blame,  and  in  this  accep- 
tation the  word  is  generally  taken.  But  should  a  man 
assume  a  preeminence  in  exercising  justice,  temperance, 
and  other  virtues,  though  such  a  man  has  really  more  true 
self-love  than  the  multitude,  yet  nobody  would  impute  this 
affection  to  him  as  a  crime.  Yet  he  takes  to  himself  the 
fairest  and  greatest  of  all  goods,  and  those  the  most  accep- 
table to  the  ruling  principle  in  his  nature,  which  is  properly 
himself,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  sovereignty  in  every 
community  is  that  which  most  properly  constitutes  the 
state.  He  is  said,  also,  to  have,  or  not  to  have,  the  com- 
mand of  himself,  just  as  this  principle  bears  sway,  or  as  it 
is  subject  to  control  ;  and  those  acts  are  considered  as 
most  voluntary  which  proceed  from  this  legislative  or 
sovereign  power.  Whoever  cherishes  and  gratifies  this 
ruling  part  of  his  nature  is  strictly  and  peculiarly  a  lover  of 
himself,  but  in  a  quite  different  sense  from  that  in  which 
self-love  is  regarded  as  a  matter  of  reproach  ;  for  all  men 
approve  and  praise  an  affection  calculated  to  produce  the 
greatest  private  and  the  greatest  public  happiness  ;  where- 
as they  disapprove  and  blame  the  vulgar  kind  of  self-love 
as  often  hurtful  to  others,  and  always  ruinous  to  those  who 
indulge  it."  * 

*  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Book  IX.  Chap.  viii. 

Jouffroy  accounts  as  follows  for  the  appearance  of  self-love  in  human 
nature:  —  "The  faculties,  as  long  as  they  are  abandoned  to  the  impulse 
of  the  passions,  obey  that  passion  which  happens  to  be  the  strongest  at 
the  time,  from  which  a  twofold  inconvenience  ensues.  In  the  first 
place,  the  passions  are  of  all  things  the  most  unstable,  the  dominion  of 
one  being  almost  immediately  supplanted  by  that  of  another,  so  that 
the  faculties  while  under  their  exclusive  control  are  incapable  of  con- 
tinuous and  connected  effort,  and  consequently  nothing  of  importance 
is  effected.  And,  again,  the  good  found  in  the  satisfaction  of  the  domi- 
nant passion  at  the  moment  often  leads  to  serious  evil,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  evil  of  its  not  being  satisfied  often  results  in  great  and 
permanent  good  ;  from  which  it  appears  that  nothing  is  less  favorable 


108  THE    MORAL,    FACULTY 

CHAPTER    II. 

OF    THE    MORAL     FACULTY. 
SECTION  I. 

THE    MORAL    FACULTY    NOT    RESOLVABLE     INTO    SELF-LOVE. 

I.  Duty  and  Interest  not  the  same.}  As  some  authors 
have  supposed  that  vice  consists  in  an  excessive  regard  to 

to  the  attainment  of  our  highest  good  than  this  exclusive  dominion  of 
the  passions.  Reason  is  not  slow  to  discover  this,  or  to  conclude  from 
it  that,  in  order  to  obtain  the  highest  possible  good,  our  effective  force 
must  no  longer  be  the  prey  of  the  mechanical  impulse  of  the  passions. 
It  sees,  on  the  contrary,  how  much  better  it  would  be,  if,  instead  of 
being  hurried  away  each  instant  by  such  impulse  to  the  gratification  of 
gome  new  passion,  it  were  freed  from  this  constraint,  and  directed  ex- 
clusively to  the  realization  of  the  interest  of  all  the  passions  taken  to- 
gether,—  that  is  to  say,  the  greatest  good  of  our  whole  nature.  More- 
over, with  the  same  degree  of  clearness  that  our  reason  conceives  this 
course  to  be  wise,  it  also  conceives  it  to  be  practicable.  We  are  cer- 
tainly capable  of  judging  what  the  highest  good  of  our  nature  is;  our 
reason  enables  us  to  do  it.  Equally  certain  is  it  that  we  can,  if  we 
please,  lake  possession  of  our  own  faculties,  and  employ  them  to  carry 
out  this  idea  of  our  reason.  That  we  have  this  power  has  been  reveal- 
ed even  under  the  exclusive  empire  of  passion ;  we  have  felt  it  in  the 
spontaneous  effort  by  which,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  dominant  passion 
for  the  time  being,  we  have  concentrated  all  our  forces  on  a  single 
point.  It  is  only  necessary  that  we  should  do  voluntarily  what  before 
we  have  done  spontaneously,  and  free  will  appears.  No  sooner  is  this 
great  revolution  conceived,  than  it  is  accomplished.  A  new  principle 
of  action  springs  up  within  us,  interest  well  understood,  —  a  principle 
which  is  not  a  passion,  but  an  idea ;  not  a  blind  and  instinctive  prompt- 
ing of  our  nature,  but  an  intelligible,  deliberate,  and  rational  purpose  ; 
not  an  impulse,  but  a  motive.  Finding  a  point  of  support  in  this  motive, 
the  natural  power  we  have  over  our  faculties  takes  these  faculties  under 
its  control,  and  in  its  effort  to  direct  them  according  to  this  motive 
shakes  off  the  bondage  of  the  passions,  and  becomes  itself  more  and 
more  developed  and  free.  From  this  time  our  active  powers  are  de- 
livered from  the  irregular,  vacillating,  and  turbulent  empire  of  the  pas- 
sions, and  become  submissive  to  the  law  of  reason,  which  considers 
what  will  be  for  the  greatest  possible  satisfaction  of  our  tendencies,  that 
is  to  say,  the  highest  good  of  the  individual,  or  self-interest  well  under- 
stood." —  Cours  de  Droit  Naturel,  Lepon  II.  See  the  whole  of  this  Lec- 
ture and  the  following  one  in  the  original,  or  in  Mr.  Channing's  trans- 
lation. 

No  writer  has  treated  the  subject  of  self-love  with  so  much  care 
and  minuteness  of  discrimination  as  Jeremy  Bentham,  in  the  first  vol- 
ume of  his  Introduction  to  the  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation. 
Here  we  have  what  has  been  called  his  Moral  Arithmetic,  by  which  lie 


NOT    RESOLVABLE    INTO    SELF-LOVE.  109 

our  own  happiness,  so  others  have  gone  into  the  opposite 
extreme,  hy  representing  virtue  as  merely  a  matter  of  pru- 
dence, and  a  sense  of  duty  but  another  name  for  a  rational 
self-love.  This  view  of  the  subject  was  far  from  being  un- 
natural ;  for  we  find  that  these  two  principles  lead  in  gen- 
eral to  the  same  course  of  action  ;  and  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  that,  if  our  knowledge  of  the  universe 
was  more  extensive,  they  would  be  found  to  do  so  in  all 
instances  whatever.  Accordingly,  by  many  of  the  best  of 
the  ancient  moralists,  our  sense  of  duty  was  considered  as 
resolvable  into  self-love,  and  the  whole  of  ethics  was  re- 
duced to  this  question,  What  is  the  supreme  good  ?  or,  in 
other  words,  What  is  most  conducive,  on  the  whole,  to 
our  happiness  ?  * 

That  we  have,  however,  a  sense  of  duty,  which  is  not 
resolvable  into  a  regard  to  our  happiness,  appears  from 

various  considerations. 

« 

II.  First  Argument.  Expressed  by  distinct  Terms  in 
all  Languages.]  There  are,  in  all  languages,  words 

thinks  to  determine  the  relative  value  of  different  "  lots  of  pleasure  or 
pain  "  ;  and  also  what  has  been  called  his  Moral  Dynamics,  or  the  doc- 
trine of  forces,  motives,  or  sanctions,  by  which  self-love,  and  through 
that  the  human  will,  is  influenced  and  determined  in  all  cases. 

Paley,  not  content  with  making  pleasure,  considered  as  constituting 
human  happiness,  the  only  ultimate  object  of  human  pursuit,  denies 
that  the  rational  and  moral  pleasures,  as  such,  are  entitled  to  more  re- 
gard than  the  rest.  "In  this  inquiry,"  says  he,  "I  will  omit  much 
usual  declamation  on  the  dignity  and  capacity  of  our  nature ;  the  supe- 
riority of  the  soul  to  the  body,  of  the  rational  to  the  animal  part  of  our 
constitution ;  upon  the  worthiness,  refinement,  and  delicacy  of  some 
satisfactions,  or  the  meanness,  grossness,  and  sensuality  of  others ; 
because  I  hold  that  pleasures  differ  in  nothing  but  in  continuance  and 
intensity/' — Mural  Philosopky,Book  I.  Chap.  vi.  Dr.  Whewell,  in  the 
Preface  to  his  edition  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh's  Dissertation  on  the 
Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  says  of  this  passage:  —  "  If  we  eould 
use  such  a  term  without  an  unbecoming  disrespect  towards  a  virtuous 
and  useful  writer,  this  opinion  might  properly  De  called  brutish,  since 
it  recognizes  no  difference  between  the  pleasures  of  man  and  those  of 
the  lowest  animals." 

For  a  very  original  and  ingenious  speculation  respecting  the  nature 
of  self-love  and  the  natural  disinterestedness  of  the  human  mind,  see 
Hazlitt's  Essays  on  the  Principles  of  Human  Action.  Also  his  Literary 
Remains,  Essay  X.,  On  Self-love. 

*  The  same  opinion,  as  will  soon  appear,  has  been  adopted  by  various 
philosophers  of  the  first  eminence  in  England,  and  was  long  the  prevail- 
ing system  on  the  Continent. 

10 


110  THE    MORAL,    FACULTY 

equivalent  to  duty  and  to  interest,  which  men  have  con- 
stantly distinguished  in  their  signification.  They  coincide 
in  general  in  their  applications,  but  they  convey  very  dif- 
ferent ideas.  When  I  wish  to  persuade  a  man  to  a 
particular  action,  I  address  some  of  my  arguments  to  a 
sense  of  duty,  and  others  to  the  regard  he  has  to  his  own 
interest.  I  endeavour  to  show  him  that  it  is  not  only  his 
duty,  but  his  interest,  to  act  in  the  way  that  I  recommend 
to  him.  * 

This  distinction  was  expressed  among  the  Roman  moral- 
ists by  the  words  honestum  and  utile.  Of  the  former 
Cicero  says,  "  Quod  vere  dicimus,  etiamsi  a  nullo  laudetur, 
natura  esse  laudabile."* 

The  TO  xalov  among  the  Greeks  corresponds,  when 
applied  to  the  conduct,  to  the  honestum  of  the  Romans. 
Dr.  Reid  remarks  that  the  word  xuS^xov  (officium)  ex- 
tended both  to  the  honestum  and  the  utile,  and  compre- 
hended every  action  performed  either  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  or  from  an  enlightened  regard  to  our  true  interest. f 
In  English  we  use  the  word  reasonable  with  the  same 
latitude,  and  indeed  almost  exactly  in  the  same  sense  in 
which  Cicero  defines  officium  : —  "  Id  quod  cur  factum  sit 
ratio  probabilis  reddi  potest."  J  In  treating  of  such  offices 
Cicero,  and  Panoetius  before  him,  first  points  out  those 
that  are  recommended  to  us  by  our  love  of  the  honestum, 
and  next  those  that  are  recommended  by  our  regard  to 
the  utile. 

This  distinction  between  a  sense  of  duty  and  a  regard  to 
interest  is  acknowledged  even  by  men  whose  moral  princi- 
ples are  not  the  purest,  nor  the  most  consistent.  What 
unlimited  confidence  do  we  repose  in  the  conduct  of  one 
whom  we  know  to  be  a  man  of  honor,  even  in  those 
cases  in  which  he  acts  out  of  the  view  of  the  world,  and 
where  the  strongest  temptations  of  worldly  interest  concur 
to  lead  him  astray  !  We  know  that  his  heart  would  revolt 

*  De  Ojjic.,  Lib.  I.  4.  "  Which,  though  none  should  praise  it,  we 
maintain  with  truth  to  be  of  itself  praiseworthy." 

t  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  III.  Chap.  v. 

t  De  Offic.,  Lib.  1. 3.  "  That,  for  the  doing  of  which  a  reasonable  mo- 
tive can  be  assigned."  But,  as  Sir  W.  Hamilton  says  in  a  note  to  the 
passage  in  Reid,  "  this  definition  does  not  apply  to  Kad^Kov  or  officium, 
in  general,  but  only  to  KadrJKov  p.eo~ov,  officium  commune." — ED. 


NOT    RESOLVABLE    INTO    SELF-LOVE.  Ill 

at  the  idea  of  any  thing  base  or  unworthy.  Dr.  Reid  ob- 
serves that  what  we  call  honor,  considered  as  a  principle 
of  conduct,  "  is  only  another  name  for  a  regard  to  duty,  to 
rectitude,  to  propriety  of  conduct."  This,  I  think,  is 
going  rather  too  far  ;  for,  although  the  two  principles  co- 
incide in  general  in  the  direction  they  give  to  our  conduct, 
they  do  not  coincide  always  ;  the  principle  of  honor  being 
liable,  from  its  nature  and  origin,  to  be  most  unhappily 
perverted  in  its  applications  by  a  bad  education  and  the 
influence  of  fashion.  At  the  same  time,  Dr.  Reid's  re- 
mark is  perfectly  in  point,  for  the  principle  of  honor  is 
plainly  grafted  on  a  sense  of  duty,  and  necessarily  presup- 
poses its  existence. 

Dr.  Paley,  one  of  the  most  zealous  advocates  for  the 
selfish  system  of  morals,  admits  the  fact  on  which  the  fore- 
going argument  proceeds,  but  endeavours  to  evade  the 
conclusion  by  means  of  a  theory  so  extraordinary,  that  I 
shall  state  it  in  his  own  words.  "  There  is  always  under- 
stood to  be  a  difference  between  an  act  of  prudence  and 
an  act  of  duty.  Thus,  if  I  distrusted  a  man  who  owed 
me  a  sum  of  money,  I  should  reckon  it  an  act  of  prudence 
to  get  another  person  bound  with  him  ;  but  I  should  hardly 
call  it  an  act  of  duty.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be 
thought  a  very  unusual  and  loose  kind  of  language  to  say, 
that,  as  I  had  made  such  a  promise,  it  was  prudent  to 
perform  it  ;  or  that,  as  my  friend,  when  he  went  abroad, 
placed  a  box  of  jewels  in  my  hands,  it  would  be  prudent 
in  me  to  preserve  it  for  him  till  he  returned. 

"  Now,  in  what,  you  will  ask,  does  the  difference  con- 
sist, inasmuch  as,  according  to  our  account  of  the  matter, 
both  in  the  one  case  and  the  other,  in  acts  of  duty  as  well 
as  acts  of  prudence,  we  consider  solely  what  we  ourselves 
shall  gain  or  lose  by  the  act. 

"  The  difference,  and  the  only  difference,  is  this  ;  that 
in  the  one  case  we  consider  what  we  shall  gain  or  lose  in 
the  present  world  ;  in  the  other  case,  we  consider  also 
what  we  shall  lose  or  gain  in  the  world  to  come."* 

*  .Moral  Philosophy,  Book  II.  Chap.  iii.  It  is  in  view  of  passages 
like  these  that  Dr.  Brown  expresses  himself  with  indignant  severity. 
"  This  form  of  the  selfish  system,  which  has  been  embraced  by  many 
theological  writers  of  undoubted  piety  and  purity,  is  notwithstanding, 


112  THE    MORAL    FACULTY 

On  this  curious  passage  I  have  no  comment  to  offer. 
A  sufficient  answer  to  it  may,  I  trust,  be  derived  from  the 
following  reasonings.  In  the  mean  time,  it  will  be  allowed 
to  be  at  least  one  presumption  of  an  essential  distinction 
between  the  notions  of  duty  and  of  interest,  that  there  are 
different  words  to  express  these  notions  in  all  languages, 
and  that  the  most  illiterate  of  mankind  are  in  no  danger  of 
confounding  them  together. 

III.  Second  Argument.  Moral  Emotions  differ  from 
all  others  in  Kind.}  But,  secondly,  the  emotions  arising 
from  the  contemplation  of  what  is  right  and  wrong  in  con- 
duct are  different  both  in  degree  and  in  kind  from  those 
which  are  produced  by  a  calm  regard  to  our  own  hap- 
piness. Of  this,  I  think,  nobody  can  doubt,  who  con- 
siders with  attention  the  operation  of  our  moral  principles 
in  cases  where  their  effects  are  not  counteracted  or  modi- 
fied by  a  combination  with  some  other  principles  of  our 
nature.  In  judging,  for  example,  of  our  own  conduct,  our 
moral  powers  are  warped  by  the  influence  of  self-partiality 

I  cannot  but  think,  as  degrading  to  the  human  character  as  any  other 
form  of  the  doctrine  of  absolute  selfishness;  or  rather,  it  is  in  itself  the 
most  degrading  of  all  the  forms  which  the  selfish  system  can  assume  : 
because,  while  the  selfishness  which  it  maintains  is  as  absolute  and  un- 
remitting as  if  the  objects  of  personal  gain  were  to  be  found  in  the 
wealth,  or  honors,  or  sensual  pleasures  of  this  earth,  this  very  selfish- 
ness is  rendered  more  offensive  by  the  noble  image  of  the  Deity  which 
is  continually  presented  to  our  mind,  and  presented  in  all  his  benevo- 
lence,—  not  to  be  loved,  but  to  be  courted  with  a  mockery  of  affection. 
The  sensualist  of  the  common  system  of  selfishness,  who  never  thinks 
of  any  higher  object  in  the  pursuit  of  the  little  pleasures  which  he  is 
miserable  enough  to  regard  as  happiness,  seems  to  me,  even  in  the 
brutal  stupidity  in  which  he  is  sunk,  a  being  more  worthy  of  esteem 
than  (he  selfish  of  anuther  life  ;  to  whose  view  God  is  ever  present,  but 
who  view  him  always  only  to  feel  constantly  in  their  heart  that,  in 
loving  him  who  has  been  the  dispenser  of  all  these  blessings  which  they 
have  enjoyed,  and  who  has  revealed  himself  in  the  glorious  character 
of  the  diffuser  of  an  immortality  of  happiness,  they  love  not  the  Giver 
himself,  but  only  the  gifts  which  they  have  received,  or  the  gifts  that 
are  promised." — Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Lect.  LXXIX.  Waine- 
wright  endeavours  to  defend  Paley  against  these  and  other  charges. 
Vindication  of  Dr.  Paley' s  Theory  of  Morals,  Chap,  iv.,  ct  passim. 

The  strict  followers  of  Paley  generally  hold  that  we  are  indebted  to 
the  Christian  revelation  for  our  belief  in  a  future  retribution.  If  so, 
it  would  seem  to  follow  from  the  passage  in  the  text  that  none  but 
Christians,  or  those  who  might  be  Christians,  have  any  thing  to  do  with 
"duties."  — ED. 


NOT    RESOLVABLE    INTO    SELF-LOVE.  113 

and  self-deceit ;  and,  accordingly,  we  daily  see  men  com- 
mit, without  any  remorse,  actions,  which,  if  performed  by 
another  person,  they  would  have  regarded  with  the  liveliest 
sentiments  of  indignation  and  abhorrence.  Even  in  this 
last  case  the  experiment  is  not  always  perfectly  fair ;  for 
where  the  actor  has  been  previously  known  to  us  our 
judgment  is  generally  affected,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
by  our  prepossessions  or  by  our  prejudices.  In  contem- 
plating the  characters  exhibited  in  histories  and  in  novels, 
the  emotions  we  feel  are  the  immediate  and  the  genuine 
result  of  our  moral  constitution  ;  and  although  they  may  be 
stronger  in  some  men  than  in  others,  yet  they  are  in  all 
distinctly  perceivable,  even  in  those  whose  want  of  temper 
and  of  candor  render  them  scarcely  conscious  of  the  dis- 
tinction of  right  and  wrong  in  the  conduct  of  their  neigh- 
bours and  acquaintance.  And  hence,  probably,  (we  may 
observe  by  the  way,)  the  chief  origin  of  the  pleasure  we 
experience  in  this  sort  of  reading.  The  representations 
of  the  stage,  however,  afford  the  most  favorable  of  all 
opportunities  for  studying  the  moral  constitution  of  man. 
As  the  mind  is  here  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  parties 
whose  character  and  conduct  are  the  subject  of  the  fable, 
the  judgments  it  forms  can  hardly  fail  to  be  impartial,  and 
the  feelings  arising  from  these  judgments  are  much  more 
conspicuous  in  their  external  effects  than  if  the  play  were 
perused  in  the  closet ;  for  every  species  of  enthusiasm 
operates  more  forcibly  when  men  are  collected  in  a  crowd. 
On  such  an  occasion  the  slightest  hint  suggested  by  the 
poet  raises  to  transport  the  passions  of  the  audience,  and 
forces  involuntary  tears  from  men  of  the  greatest  reserve 
and  the  most  correct  sense  of  propriety.  The  crowd 
does  not  create  the  feeling,  nor  even  alter  its  nature  ;  it 
only  enables  us  to  remark  its  operation  on  a  greater  scale. 
In  these  cases  we  have  surely  no  time  for  reflection  ;  and, 
indeed,  the  emotions  of  which  we  are  conscious  are  such 
as  no  speculations  about  our  own  interest  could  possibly 
excite.  It  is  in  situations  of  this  kind  that  we  most  com- 
pletely forget  ourselves  as  individuals,  and  feel  the  most 
sensibly  the  existence  of  those  moral  ties  by  which  Heaven 
has  been  pleased  to  bind  mankind  together. 
10* 


114  THE    MORAL    FACULTY 

IV.  Third  Argument.  The  Expediency  of  Virtue  not 
obvious  to  common  Experience.]  Although  philosophers 
have  shown  that  a  sense  of  duty  and  an  enlightened  regard 
to  our  own  happiness  conspire  in  most  instances  to  give 
the  same  direction  to  our  conduct,  so  as  to  put  it  beyond 
a  doubt  that,  even  in  this  world,  a  virtuous  life  is  true 
wisdom,  yet  this  is  a  truth  by  no  means  obvious  to  the 
common  sense  of  mankind,  but  deduced  from  an  extensive 
view  of  human  affairs,  and  an  accurate  investigation  of  the 
remote  consequences  of  our  different  actions.  It  is  from 
experience  and  reflection,  therefore,  we  learn  the  con-' 
nection  between  virtue  and  happiness  ;  and,  consequently, 
the  great  lessons  of  morality  which  are  obvious  to  the 
capacity  of  all  mankind  could  never  have  been  suggested 
to  them  merely  by  a  regard  to  their  own  interest.  Indeed, 
this  discovery  which  experience  makes  to  us  of  the  con- 
nection between  virtue  and  happiness,  both  in  the  case  of 
individuals  and  of  political  societies,  furnishes  one  of  the 
most  pleasing  subjects  of  speculation  to  the  philosopher, 
as  it  places  in  a  striking  point  of  view  the  unity  of  design 
which  takes  place  in  our  constitution,  and  opens  encourag- 
ing and  delightful  prospects  with  respect  to  the  moral  gov- 
ernment of  the  Deity. 

It  is  a  just  and  beautiful  observation  of  Dr.  Reid,  that 
"  although  wise  men  have  concluded  that  virtue  is  the 
only  road  to  happiness,  this  conclusion  is  founded  chiefly 
upon  the  natural  respect  men  have  for  virtue,  and  the 
good  and  happiness  that  is  intrinsic  to  it,  and  arises  from 
the  love  of  it.  If  we  suppose  a  man  altogether  destitute 
of  this  principle,  who  considered  virtue  as  only  the  means 
to  another  end,  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that  he  would 
ever  take  it  to  be  the  road  to  happiness,  but  would  wander 
for  ever  seeking  this  object  where  it  is  not  to  be  found." 

This  observation  leads  me  to  remark  further,  that  the 
man  who  is  most  successful  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness  is 
not  he  who  proposes  it  to  himself  as  the  great  object  of  his 
pursuit.  To  do  so,  and  to  be  continually  occupied  with 
schemes  on  the  subject,  would  fill  the  mind  with  anxious 
conjectures  about  futurity,  and  with  perplexing  calculations 

*  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  III.  Chap.  iv. 


NOT    RESOLVABLE    INTO    SELF-LOVE.  115 

of  the  various  chances  of  good  and  evil.  Whereas  the 
man  whose  ruling  principle  of  action  is  a  sense  of  duty 
conducts  himself  in  the  business  of  life  with  boldness, 
consistency,  and  dignity,  and  finds  himself  rewarded  with 
that  happiness  which  so  often  eludes  the  pursuit  of  those 
who  exert  every  faculty  of  the  mind  in  order  to  attain  it. 

Something  very  similar  to  this  takes  place  with  regard 
to  nations.  From  the  earliest  accounts  of  mankind,  politi- 
cians have  been  employed  in  devising  schemes  of  national 
aggrandizement,  and  have  proceeded  on  the  supposition, 
that  the  prosperity  of  their  own  country  could  only  be  ad- 
vanced by  depressing  all  others  around  them.  It  has  now 
been  shown,  with  irresistible  evidence,  that  those  views 
were  founded  on  mistake,  and  that  the  prosperity  of  a 
country  is  intimately  connected  with  that  of  its  neighbours  ; 
insomuch  that  the  enlightened  statesman,  instead  of  em- 
barrassing himself  with  the  care  of  a  machine  whose  parts 
were  become  too  complicated  for  any  human  compre- 
hension, finds  his  labor  reduced  to  the  simple  business  of 
observing  the  rules  of  justice  and  humanity.  It  is  re- 
markable, that,  long  before  the  date  of  these  profound 
speculations  in  politics,  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  Mr. 
Smith  and  to  the  French  economists,  Fenelon  was  led 
merely  by  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  and  by  his  specula- 
tive conviction  of  the  intimate  connection  between  virtue 
and  happiness  under  the  moral  government  of  God,  to 
recommend  a  free  trade  as  an  expedient  measure  in  policy, 
and  to  reprobate  the  mean  ideas  of  national  jealousy,  as 
calculated  to  frustrate  the  very  ends  to  which  they  are 
supposed  to  be  subservient.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  that,  as  in  conducting  the  affairs  of  private  life,  "the 
integrity  of  the  upright  man"  is  his  surest  guide,  so,  in 
managing  the  affairs  of  a  great  empire,  a  strong  sense  of 
justice,  and  an  ardent  zeal  for  the  rights  and  for  the  hap- 
piness of  mankind,  will  go  further  to  form  a  great  and  suc- 
cessful statesman  than  the  most  perfect  acquaintance  with 
political  details,  unassisted  by  the  direction  of  these  in- 
ward monitors. 

An  author,  too,  in  our  own  country,  of  sound  judgment, 
and  of  very  accurate  commercial  information,  and  who  was 
one  of  the  first  in  England  who  turned  the  attention  of  the 


116  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

public  to  those  liberal  notions  concerning  trade  which  are 
now  become  so  prevalent,  acknowledges  that  it  was  by  a 
train  of  reasoning  a  priori  that  he  was  led  to  his  conclu- 
sions. "Can  we  suppose,"  says  he,  "that  Divine  Provi- 
dence has  really  constituted  the  order  of  things  in  such  a 
sort,  as  to  make  the  rule  of  natural  self-preservation  incon- 
sistent with  the  fundamental  principle  of  universal  benevo- 
lence, and  the  doing  as  we  would  be  done  by  ?  For  my 
own  part,  I  must  confess,  I  never  could  conceive  that  an 
all-wise,  just,  and  benevolent  being  would  contrive  one 
part  of  his  plan  to  be  so  contradictory  to  the  other  as  here 
supposed,  —  that  is,  would  lay  us  under  one  obligation  as 
to  morals,  and  another  as  to  trade ;  or,  in  short,  to  make 
that  to  be  our  duty  which  is  not,  upon  the  whole,  and 
generally  speaking,  (even  without  the  consideration  of  a 
future  state,)  our  interest  likewise. 

"  Therefore  I  concluded  a  priori  that  there  must  be 
some  flaw  or  other  in  the  preceding  arguments,  plausible 
as  they  seem,  and  great  as  they  are  on  the  foot  of  human 
authority.  For  though  the  appearance  of  things  at  first 
sight  makes  for  this  conclusion,  '  that  poor  countries  must 
inevitably  carry  away  the  trade  from  rich  ones,  and  conse- 
quently impoverish  them,'  the  fact  itself  cannot  be  so."  * 

V.  Fourth  Argument.  Moral  Judgments  in  Children 
precede  the  Calculations  of  Prudence.]  The  same  con- 
clusion is  strongly  confirmed  by  the  early  period  of  life 
at  which  our  moral  judgments  make  their  appearance,  long 
before  children  are  able  to  form  the  general  notion  of 
happiness,  and,  indeed,  in  the  very  infancy  of  their  reason. 
It  is  astonishing  how  powerfully  a  child  of  sensibility  may 
be  affected  by  any  simple  narration  calculated  to  rouse  the 
feelings  of  pity,  of  generosity,  or  of  indignation,  and  how 
very  early  some  minds  formed  in  a  happy  mould  are  in- 
spired with  a  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  their  nature, 
and  glow  with  the  enthusiasm  of  virtue.  Dr.  Beattie  has 
beautifully  painted  these  openings  of  the  moral  character 
in  the  description  he  gives  of  the  effect  produced  on  his 


*  Tucker's  Four  Tracts  on  Political  and  Commercial  Subjects,  Tract 
I.  p.  20. 


HARTLEY.  117 

young  Edwin  by  the  fine  old  ballad  of  the  Babes  in  the 
Wood. 

"  But  when  to  horror  his  amazement  rose, 

A  gentler  strain  the  beldame  would  rehearse, — 

A  tale  of  rural  life,  a  tale  of  woes, 

The  orphan  babes  and  guardian  uncle  fierce. 

O,  cruel  !  will  no  pang  of  pity  pierce 

That  heart  by  lust  of  lucre  seared  to  stone  ? 

For  sure,  if  aught  of  virtue  last,  or  verse, 

To  latest  times  shall  tender  souls  bemoan 
Those  helpless  orphan  babes  by  thy  fell  arts  undone. 

"  See  where,  with  berries  smeared,  with  brambles  torn, 
The  babes  now  famished  lay  them  down  to  die ; 
'Midst  the  wild  howl  of  darksome  woods  forlorn, 
Folded  in  one  another's  arms  they  lie, 
Nor  friend,  nor  stranger,  hears  their  dying  cry, 
'  For  from  the  town  the  man  returns  no  more.' 
But  thou  who  Heaven's  just  vengeance  dar'st  defy, 
This  deed  with  fruitless  tears  shall  soon  deplore, 

When  death  lays  waste  thy  house,  and  flames  consume  thy  store. 

"  A  stifled  smile  of  stern,  vindictive  joy 
Brightened  one  moment  Edwin's  starting  tear;  — 
'But  why  should  gold  man's  feeble  mind  decoy, 
And  innocence  thus  die  by  doom  severe?' 
O  Edwin  !  while  thy  heart  is  yet  sincere, 
The  assaults  of  discontent  and  doubt  repel ; 
Dark  even  at  noon-tide  is  our  mortal  sphere, 
But  let  us  hope,  —  to  doubt  is  to  rebel, — 
Let  us  exult  in  hope  that  all  shall  yet  be  well."  * 


SECTION   II. 

EXAMINATION    OF    HARTLEY'S   THEORY    OF    THE    FORMATION 
OF    THE    MORAL    SENSE    BY    ASSOCIATION    ALONE. 

I.  This  Theory  eludes  but  in  Part  the  foregoing  Argu- 
ments.^ The  reasonings  already  stated  seem  to  me  to 
furnish  a  sufficient  refutation  of  the  selfish  theory  of  morals, 
as  it  is  explained  by  the  greater  number  of  the  philoso- 
phers who  have  adopted  it ;  but,  before  leaving  the  sub- 
ject, it  is  necessary  for  me  to  take  notice  of  a  doctrine 
fundamentally  the  same,  though  modified  in  such  a  manner 

*  The  Minstrel,  Book  I.  For  a  more  extended  statement  of  the 
proofs  of  man's  moral  nature,  see  Upham's  Mental  Philosophy,  Vol.  II. 
§  207  et  seq.  Also,  Lieber's  Political  Ethics,  Book  I.  Chap.  li.  —  ED. 


1 18  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

as  to  elude  some  of  the  foregoing  arguments,  —  a  doctrine 
which  has  been  maintained  of  late  by  various  English 
writers  of  note,  and  which  I  suspect  is  at  present  the  pre- 
vailing system  in  that  part  of  the  island.  According  to 
this  doctrine  we  do,  indeed,  in  many  cases,  approve  or 
disapprove  of  particular  actions,  without  any  reference  to 
our  own  interest  at  the  time ;  but  it  is  asserted  that  it  was. 
views  of  self-interest  which  originally  created  these  moral 
sentiments,  and  led  us  to  associate  agreeable  or  disagreea- 
ble emotions  with  human  conduct.  The  origin  of  the 
moral  faculty,  in  the  opinion  of  these  theorists,  is  precisely 
analogous  to  that  of  avarice,  or  of  any  of  our  other  facti- 
tious principles  of  action.  Money,  it  will  not  be  disputed, 
is  at  first  desired  merely  on  account  of  its  subservience 
to  the  gratification  of  our  natural  desires  ;  but,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  the  association  of  ideas  leads  us  to  regard 
it  as  a  desirable  thing  in  itself,  without  any  reference  to 
this  subservience  or  utility,  and  in  many  cases  it  continues 
to  be  coveted  with  an  increasing  passion,  long  after  we 
have  lost  all  relish  for  the  enjoyments  it  enables  us  to 
purchase.  In  the  same  manner,  a  particular  action  which 
was  at  first  approved  or  disapproved  of,  merely  on  account 
of  its  supposed  tendency  with  respect  to  our  own  interest, 
comes,  in  process  of  time,  to  be  approved  or  disapproved 
of  the  moment  it  is  mentioned,  and  without  any  reflection 
on  our  part  that  we  are  able  to  recollect.  Thus,  without 
abandoning  the  old  selfish  principles,  they  contrive  to 
evade  the  force  of  the  arguments  founded  by  Hutcheson 
and  others  on  the  instantaneousness  with  which  our  moral 
judgments  are  commonly  pronounced.  This,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  is  the  theory  of  Dr.  Law,  of  Dr.  Hartley,  of 
Dr.  Priestley,  of  Dr.  Paley,  and  of  Dr.  Paley's  great 
oracle  in  philosophy,  the  author  of  the  Light  of  Nature 
Pursued.* 

I  am  ready  to  acknowledge  that  this  refinement  on  the 
old  selfish  system  gives  it  a  degree  of  plausibility  which  it 

*  Hartley,  though  he  borrowed  the  hint  and  general  idea  from  others, 
was  chiefly  instrumental  in  giving  form  and  currency  to  this  theory,  and 
hence  it  commonly  goes  under  his  name.  Observations  on  .Van,  Chap, 
iv.  Sect.  vi.  It  has  found,  perhaps,  its  ablest  advocate  in  James  Mill, 
Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  Chap,  xxiii.  With  both  it  is  only  part  of 
a  more  general  theory.  —  ED. 


PALEY.  119 

did  not  originally  possess,  and  obviates  one  of  the  objec- 
tions to  it  formerly  stated.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  this  was  not  the  only  objection,  and  that  there  are 
several  others  which  apply  both  to  the  old  and  new  hy- 
pothesis with  equal  force. 

Among  these  arguments,  what  I  would  lay  the  principal 
stress  on  is  the  degree  of  experience  and  reflection  neces- 
sary for  discovering  the  tendency  of  virtue  to  promote  our 
happiness,  compared  with  the  very  early  period  of  life 
when  the  moral  sentiments  display  themselves  in  their  full 
vigor. 

II.  Paley's  Doctrine,  that  Moral  Sentiments  ore  gen- 
erated by  Imitation,  unsatisfactory."]  In  answer  to  this,  it 
may  perhaps  be  alleged,  that,  when  once  moral  ideas  have 
been  formed  by  the  process  already  described,  they  are 
caught  by  infants  from  their  parents  or  preceptors,  by  a 
sort  of  imitation,  and  without  any  reflection  on  their  part. 
"  There  is  nothing,"  says  Dr.  Paley,  "  which  children 
imitate,  or  apply  more  readily,  than  expressions  of  affec- 
tion or  aversion,  of  approbation,  hatred,  resentment,  and 
the  like  ;  and  when  these  passions  and  expressions  are 
once  connected,  (which  they  will  soon  be  by  the  same 
association  which  unites  words  with  their  ideas,)  the  pas- 
sion will  follow  the  expression,  and  attach  upon  the  object 
to  which  the  child  has  been  accustomed  to  apply  the  epi- 
thet. In  a  word,  when  almost  every  thing  else  is  learned 
by  imitation,  can  we  wonder  to  find  the  same  cause  con- 
cerned in  the  generation  of  our  moral  sentiments  ?  "  * 

The  plausibility  of  this  reasoning  arises  entirely  from 
the  address  with  which  the  author  introduces  indirectly  a 
most  important  fact  with  respect  to  the  human  mind  ;  a 
fact  which,  by  engrossing  the  attention  of  the  reader,  is 
apt  to  prevent  his  perceiving,  on  a  superficial  view,  its 
inapplicability  to  the  point  in  dispute,  or  at  least  its  insuffi- 
ciency to  establish  in  its  full  extent  the  conclusion  which 
is  deduced  from  it.  That  imitation  and  the  association  of 
ideas  have  a  great  influence  on  our  moral  judgments  and 
emotions,  more  particularly  in  our  early  years,  every  man 

*  Moral  Philosophy,  Book  I.  Chap.  v. 


120  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

must  be  sensible  who  has  reflected  at  all  on  the  subject  ; 
and  it  is  a  fact  which  deserves  the  serious  consideration  of 
all  who  have- any  concern  in  the  education  of  youth.  But 
does  it  therefore  follow  that  imitation  and  the  association 
of  ideas  are  sufficient  to  account  for  the  origin  of  the 
power  of  moral  perception,  and  for  the  origin  of  our 
notions  of  right  and  wrong  ?  *  On  the  contrary,  the  ten- 
dency we  have  in  the  infancy  of  our  reason  to  follow  in 
our  moral  judgments  the  example  of  those  whom  we  love 
and  reverence,  and  the  influence  of  association,  sometimes 
in  guiding  and  sometimes  in  misleading  us  in  what  we 
praise  or  blame,  presuppose  the  existence  of  the  power  of 
moral  judgment,  and  of  the  general  notions  of  right  and 
wrong.  The  power  of  these  adventitious  causes  over  the 
mind  is  so  great,  that  there  is  perhaps  no  particular  prac- 
tice which  we  may  not  be  trained  to  approve  of  or  to  con- 
demn ;  but  wherever  this  happens,  the  operation  of  these 
causes  supposes  us  to  be  already  in  possession  of  some 
faculty  by  which  we  are  capable  of  bestowing  approbation 
or  blame.  It  is  worthy,  too,  of  remark,  that  it  is  only  with 
respect  to  particular  practices  that  education  is  capable 
of  misleading  us  ;  for  even  when  education  perverts  the 
judgment,  it  produces  its  effect  by  employing  the  instru- 
mentality of  our  moral  principles.  In  many  cases  it  will 
be  found  that  it  operates  by  combining  a  number  of  princi- 
ples against  one  ;  by  associating,  for  example,  a  number 
of  worthy  dispositions  and  amiable  affections  with  habits 
which,  if  divested  of  such  an  alliance,  would  be  regarded 
as  mean  and  contemptible. 

To  all  this  we  may  add,  that  our  speculative  judgments 
concerning  truth  and  falsehood,  as  well  as  our  judgments 
concerning  right  and  wrong,  are  liable  to  be  influenced  by 
imitation  and  the  association  of  ideas.  Even  in  mathe- 

*  Mr.  Stewart  has  said  in  another  connection,  Philosophy  of  the  Human 
Mind,  First  Part,  Chap.  v.  P.  ii.  Sect,  ii.:  —  "  The  association  of  ideas 
can  never  account  for  the  origin  of  a  new  notion,  or  of  a  pleasure 
essentially  different  from  all  the  others  which  we  know.  It  may,  in- 
deed, enable  us  to  conceive  how  a  thing  indifferent  in  itself  may  become 
a  source  of  pleasure,  by  being  connected  in  the  mind  with  something 
else  which  is  naturally  agreeable ;  but  it  presupposes,  in  every  instance, 
the  existence  of  those  notions  and  those  feelings  which  it  is  its  province 
to  combine."  —  ED. 


PALElf.  121 

matics,  when  a  pupil  of  a  tender  age  enters  first  on  the 
study  of  the  elements,  his  judgment  leans  not  a  little  on 
that  of  his  teacher,  and  he  feels  his  confidence  in  the  truth 
of  his  conclusions  sensibly  confirmed  by  his  faith  in  the 
superior  understanding  of  those  whom  he  looks  up  to  with 
respect.  It  is  only  by  degrees  that  he  emancipates  him- 
self from  this  dependence,  and  comes  at  last  to  perceive 
the  irresistible  force  of  demonstrative  evidence  ;  and  yet 
it  will  not  be  inferred  from  this  that  the  power  of  reasoning 
is  the  result  of  imitation  or  of  habit.  The  conclusion 
mentioned  above  with  respect  to  the  power  of  moral  judg- 
ment is  equally  erroneous.  ty  ^ 

#C  |          A, 

III.  Paley's  Statement  of  the  Question  as  to  the  Ex- 
istence of  a  Moral  Sense.']  The  looseness  and  sophistry 
of  Paley's  reasonings  on  the  subject  of  the  moral  faculty 
may  be  traced  to  the  vague  and  indistinct  conception  he 
had  formed  of  the  point  in  question.  In  proof  of  this  I 
shall  transcribe  his  own  words  from  his  Principles  of 
Moral  and  Political  Philosophy.  It  is  necessary  to  pre- 
mise, that  he  introduces  his  argument  against  the  existence 
of  a  moral  sense  by  quoting  a  story  from  Valerius  Maxi- 
mus,  which  I  shall  present  to  my  readers  in  Dr.  Paley's 
version. 

"  The  father  of  Caius  Toranius  had  been  proscribed 
by  the  Triumvirate.  Caius  Toranius,  coming  over  to  the 
interests  of  that  party,  discovered  to  the  officers  who  were 
in  pursuit  of  his  father's  life  the  place  where  he  concealed 
himself,  and  gave  them  withal  a  description  by  which  they 
might  distinguish  his  person  when  they  found  him.  The 
old  man,  more  anxious  for  the  safety  and  fortunes  of  his 
son  than  about  the  little  that  might  remain  of  his  own  life, 
began  immediately  to  inquire  of  the  officers  who  seized 
him,  whether  his  son  was  well, —  whether  he  had  done  his 
duty  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  generals.  '  That  son,'  replied 
one  of  the  officers,  '  so  dear  to  thy  affections,  betrayed  thee 
to  us  ;  by  his  information  thou  art  apprehended  and  diest.' 
The  officer  with  this  struck  a  poniard  to  his  heart,  and 
the  unhappy  parent  fell,  not  so  much  affected  by  his  fate 
as  by  the  means  to  which  he  owed  it." 

"  Now,"  says  Dr.  Paley,  "  the  question  is,  whether,  if 
11 


122  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

this  story  were  related  to  the  wild  boy  caught  some  years 
ago  in  the  woods  of  Hanover,  or  to  a  savage  without  ex- 
perience and  without  instruction,  cut  off  in  his  infancy 
from  all  intercourse  with  his  species,  and  consequently 
under  no  possible  influence  of  example,  authority,  educa- 
tion, sympathy,  or  habit,  —  whether,  I  say,  such  a  one 
would  feel,  upon  the  relation,  any  degree  of  that  sentiment 
of  disapprobation  of  Toranius's  conduct  which  we  feel, 
or  not. 

"  They  who  maintain  the  existence  of  a  moral  sense,  of 
innate  maxims,  of  a  natural  conscience,  that  the  love  of 
virtue  and  hatred  of  vice  are  instinctive,  or  the  perception 
of  right  and  wrong  intuitive,  (all  of  which  are  only  dif- 
ferent ways  of  expressing  the  same  opinion,)  affirm  that  he 
would. 

"  They  who  deny  the  existence  of  a  moral  sense,  &c., 
affirm  that  he  would  not. 

"  And  upon  this  issue  is  joined."* 

To  those  who  are  at  all  acquainted  with  the  history  of 
this  dispute,  it  must  appear  evident  that  the  question  is 
here  completely  misstated  ;  and  that,  in  the  whole  of  Dr. 
Paley's  subsequent  argument  on  the  subject,  he  combats 
a  phantom  of  his  own  imagination.  The  opinion  which  he 
ascribes  to  his  antagonists  has  been  loudly  and  repeatedly 
disavowed  by  all  the  most  eminent  moralists  who  have  dis- 
puted Locke's  reasonings  against  innate  practical  princi- 
ples; and  is,  indeed,  so  very  obviously  absurd,  that  it  never 
could  have  been  for  a  moment  entertained  by  any  person 
in  his  senses. 

Did  it  ever  enter  into  the  mind  of  the  wildest  theorist 
to  imagine  that  the  sense  of  seeing  would  enable  a  man, 
brought  up  from  the  moment  of  his  birth  in  utter  darkness, 
to  form  a  conception  of  light  and  colors  ?  But  would  it 
not  be  equally  rash  to  conclude,  from  the  extravagance 
of  such  a  supposition,  that  the  sense  of  seeing  is  not  an 
original  part  of  the  human  frame  ? 

The  above  quotation  from  Paley  forces  me  to  remark 
further,  that,  in  combating  the  supposition  of  a  moral  sense, 
he  has  confounded  together,  as  only  different  ways  of  ex- 

*  Moral  Philosophy,  Book  I.  Chap.  v. 


PALEY. 

pressing  the  same  opinion,  a  variety  of  systems,  which  are 
regarded  by  all  our  best  philosophers,  not  only  as  essen- 
tially distinct,  but  as  in  some  measure  opposed  to  each 
other.  The  system  of  Hutcheson,  for  example,  is  identi- 
fied with  that  of  Cudworth,  to  which  (as  will  afterwards 
appear)  it  stands  in  direct  opposition.  But  although,  in 
this  instance,  the  author's  logical  discrimination  does  not 
appear  to  much  advantage,  the  sweeping  censure  thus  be- 
stowed on  so  many  of  our  most  celebrated  ethical  theories 
has  the  merit  of  throwing  a  very  strong  light  on  that  par- 
ticular view  of  the  subject  which  it  is  the  aim  of  his  rea- 
sonings to  establish  in  contradiction  to  them  all.* 

*  On  the  subject  of  Paley's  illustration  cited  in  the  text,  Dr.  Whewell 
remarks: — "  To  expect  to  obtain  moral  axioms  by  referring  the  ques- 
tion to  a  jury  of  savages,  or  of  men  nearly  approaching  to  savages  in 
prejudice,  ignorance,  or  passion,  would  certainly  be  a  very  wild  expecta- 
tion; and  I  hope  it  will  not  be  considered  a  defect  in  any  moral  system 
to  which  we  may  be  led,  that  it  does  not  satisfy  such  an  expectation  as 
this.  The  notion,  that  an  appeal  to  such  a  jury  is  the  way  to  test  moral 
axioms,  is  something  like  Paley's  proposal  of  bringing  the  narration  of 
an  atrocious  crime  before  Peter,  tne  wild  boy,  who  was  bred  up,  or 
rather  grew  up,  like  a  wild  beast;  and  of  doing  this,  in  order  to  discern 
whether  man  has  a  natural  abhorrence  of  crime.  Paley  himself  points 
out  the  difficulty  which  makes  such  an  experiment  impossible  :  —  'If,' 
he  says,  '  he  could  be  made  to  understand  the  story.'  But  it  is  evident 
that  he  could  not  be  made  to  understand  the  story,  except  by  growing 
up  as  a  man  among  men,  and  ceasing  to  be  a  wild  boy.  And,  in  like 
manner,  we  must  say  of  a  supposed  promiscuous  jury  of  men,  by  whom 
you  would  test  our  moral  axioms :  —  If  these  men  are  so  savage,  and 
ignorant,  and  passionate,  as  to  have  in  them  the  attributes  of  men  im- 
perfectly unfolded,  they  cannot  tell  you  what  moral  truths  are  evident  to 
man  as  man." 

And  again  :  — "Truths  may  be  self-evident  when  we  have  made  a 
certain  progress  in  thinking,  which  are  not  self-evident  when  we  begin 
to  think.  And  this  may  be,  not  because  the  truths  thus  later  discerned 
are  dependent  on  the  prerequisite  truths  by  any  logical  tie,  or  can  be 
inferred  from  them  by  argument;  but  because,  by  the  train  of  thought  by 
which  we  come  to  see  those  earlier  gleams  of  truth,  the  mind  is  unfold- 
ed and  instructed,  so  as  to  perceive  the  later  and  fuller  light.  This  may 
be  so,  because  in  the  process  of  thought  thus  previously  gone  through 
we  have  learnt  to  classify  and  distinguish  the  actions  of  men  around  us, 
or  our  own  feelings  and  impulses  within  us.  It  may  be  that  to  groups 
and  classes  and  relations  of  emotions  and  sentiments  we  have  given 
names ;  and  that  through  these  names  language  has  exercised  its  power 
of  aiding  thought,  and  has  enabled  us  to  see  what,  without  such  aid,  we 
could  not  see.  In  these  ways,  and  in  others,  moral  truths  may  become 
evident  to  us,  when  we  have  made  some  little  advance  in  the  develop- 
ment of  our  moral  nature,  and  in  the  power  of  apprehending  such  truth  ; 
although,  so  long  as  we  were  half  imbruted  by  the  absence  of  any  calm 
and  continued  thought  on  such  subjects,  and  by  the  scantiness  of  our 


124  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 


SECTION  III. 

THE    MORAL    CONSTITUTION     OF    HUMAN     NATURE     NOT    DIS- 
PROVED BY  THE  DIVERSITY  IN   MEN?S  MORAL  JUDGMENTS. 

I.  How  far  and  in  what  Way  our  Moral  Nature  may 
bt  affected  by  Education.]  In  the  preceding  observations 
I  have  endeavoured  to  prove  that  the  moral  faculty  is  an 
original  principle  of  our  constitution,  which  is  not  resolva- 

acquaintance  with  those  relations  among  men  which  are  the  materials 
for  such  thought,  we  were  insensible  to  the  evidence  which  now  seems 
so  glaring.  It  requires  a  culture  of  the  human  mind  to  make  that  evi- 
dent which,  nevertheless,  is  evident  by  the  nature  of  the  human  mind. 
"  And,  in  truth,  we  cannot  help  asking  why  we  should  go  to  savages 
for  the  genuine  voice  of  human  nature.  Why  should  it  be  supposed 
that  men  are  more  properly  men,  because  in  them  some  of  the  most 
important  attributes  of  humanity  remain  latent  and  undeveloped?  If 
cultured  men  see,  as  evident  in  morals,  what  savages  do  not  see  as  evi- 
dent, are  not  cultured  men  still  men  ?  And  all  that  they  know  and 
think,  in  addition  to  what  savages  know  and  think,  did  they  not  come 
to  know  it  by  the  use  of  their  human  faculties?  The  early  Romans 
called  every  stranger  an  enemy  ;  every  peregrinus  was  hostis.  The  later 
Romans  filled  the  theatre  with  thunders  of  applause,  when  the  poet 
made  the  actor  say, 

'  Homo  sum,  humani  nihil  a  me  alienvm  pvto.' 

Which  of  these  two  was  the  genuine  voice  of  humanity  ?  Was  not  the 
latter  evidently  the  assent  to  the  irresistible  evidence  of  a  moral  truth? 
Was  that  earlier  practical  denial  of  this  moral  truth  really  the  utterance 
of  a  moral  conviction  ?  Was  it  not  an  utterance  which  came  from  man, 
not  as  the  utterance  of  conviction,  but  of  uncontrolled  fear  and  anger? 
not  an  articulate  utterance  in  the  name  of  humanity,  but  an  inarticulate 
cry,  borrowing  part  of  its  import  from  the  ferine  nature  of  the  nation  ? 
It  was  a  trace  of  the  wolf's  milk." — Lectures  on  Systematic  Morality, 
Lect.  II.  pp.  34,  38.  See  also  Lieber's  Political  Ethics,  Book  II.  Chap, 
iii.,  and  Sedgwick's  Discourse  on  the  Studies  of  the  University,  pp.  57  et 
seq.,  and  Appendix  (E). 

"  Peter  the  Wild  Boy  "  made  a  great  noise  among  scientific  men  in 
the  early  part  of  the  last  century.  "Swift  has  immortalized  him  in  his 
humorous  production,  It  cannot  rain,  but  it  pours;  or,  London  strewed 
with  Rarities.  Linnaeus  gave  him  a  niche  in  the  Systema  JVaturte,  under 
the  denomination  of  Jurenis  Hunoveranits ;  Bufibn,  De  Paauw,  and  J. 
J.  Rousseau  have  extolled  him  as  the  true  child  of  nature,  the  genuine 
•unsophisticated  man.  Monboddo  is  still  more  enthusiastic,  declaring 
his  appearance  to  be  a  much  more  important  occurrence  than  the  dis- 
covery of  the  planet  Uranus."  —  Lawrence's  Natural  History  of  Man, 
Chap.  ii.  He  turned  out  to  be  an  idiotic  boy,  who  had  been  lost  in  the 
woods,  or  driven  into  them  and  abandoned,  about  a  year  before  he  was 
brought  into  such  notice. —  ED. 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  125 

ble  into  any  other  principle  or  principles  more  general 
than  itself  ;  in  particular,  that  it  is  not  resolvable  into  self- 
love,  or  a  prudential  regard  to  our  own  interest.  In 
order,  however,  completely  to  establish  the  existence  of 
the  moral  faculty  as  an  essential  and  universal  part  of 
human  nature,  it  is  necessary  to  examine  with  attention 
the  objections  which  have  been  stated  to  this  conclusion 
by  some  writers,  who  were  either  anxious  to  display  their 
ingenuity  by  accounting  in  a  different  manner  for  the  origin 
of  our  moral  ideas,  or  who  wish  to  favor  the  cause  of 
skepticism  by  explaining  away  the  reality  and  immutability 
of  moral  distinctions. 

Among  these  objections,  that  which  merits  the  most 
careful  consideration,  from  the  characters  of  those  by 
whom  it  is  maintained,  is  founded  on  the  possibility  of  ex- 
plaining the  fact  without  increasing  the  number  of  original 
principles  in  our  constitution.  The  rules  of  morality,  it 
has  been  supposed,  were,  in  the  first  instance,  brought  to 
light  by  the  sagacity  of  philosophers  and  politicians  ;  and 
it  is  only  in  consequence  of  the  influence  of  education  that 
they  appear  to  form  an  original  part  of  the  human  frame. 
The  diversity  of  opinions  among  different  nations  with 
respect  to  the  morality  of  particular  actions  has  been  con- 
sidered as  a  strong  confirmation  of  this  doctrine. 

But  the  power  of  education,  although  great,  is  confined 
within  certain  limits.  It  is,  indeed,  much  more  extensive 
than  philosophers  once  believed,  as  sufficiently  appears 
from  those  modern  discoveries,  with  respect  to  the  distant 
parts  of  the  globe,  which  have  so  wonderfully  enlarged  our 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  which  show  clearly  that 
many  sentiments  and  opinions,  which  had  been  formerly 
regarded  as  inseparable  from  the  nature  of  man,  are  the 
results  of  accidental  situation.  If  our  forefathers,  how- 
ever, went  into  one  extreme  on  this  point,  we  seem  to  be 
at  present  in  no  small  danger  of  going  into  the  opposite 
one,  by  considering  man  as  entirely  a  factitious  being,  that 
may  be  moulded  into  any  form  by  education  and  fashion. 

I  have  said  that  the  power  of  education   is  confined 

within  certain  limits.     The  reason  is  obvious,  for  it  is  by 

cooperating  with  the  natural  principles  of  the  mind  that 

education  produces  its  effects.     Nay,  this  very  suscepti- 

11* 


126 


THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 


bility  of  education,  which  is  acknowledged  to  belong  uni- 
versally to  the  race,  presupposes  the  existence  of  certain 
principles  which  are  common  to  all  mankind. 

The  influence  of  education  in  diversifying  the  appear- 
ances which  the  moral  constitution  of  man  exhibits  in  dif- 
ferent instances  depends  chiefly  on  that  law  of  our  consti- 
tution which  was  formerly  called  the  association  of  ideas  ; 
and  this  law  supposes,  in  every  case,  that  there  are  opin- 
ions and  feelings  essential  to  the  human  frame,  by  a  com- 
bination with  which  external  circumstances  lay  hold  of  the 
mind,  and  adapt  it  to  its  accidental  situation.  What  we 
daily  see  happen  in  the  trifling  article  of  dress  may  help  us 
to  conceive  how  the  association  of  ideas  operates  in  mat- 
ters of  more  serious  consequence.  Fashion,  it  is  well 
known,  can  reconcile  us,  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  to 
the  most  absurd  and  fantastical  ornament  ;  but  does  it  fol- 
low from  this  that  fashion  could  create  our  ideas  of  beauty 
and  elegance  ?  During  the  time  we  have  seen  this  orna- 
ment worn,  it  has  been  confined,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
those  whom  we  consider  as  models  of  taste,  and  has  been 
gradually  associated  with  the  impressions  produced  by  the 
real  elegance  of  their  appearance  and  manner.  When  it 
pleases  by  itself,  the  effect  is  not  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
thing  considered  abstractedly,  nor  to  any  change  which 
our  general  notions  of  beauty  have  undergone,  but  to  the 
impressions  with  which  it  has  been  generally  connected, 
and  which  it  naturally  recalls  to  the  mind.  The  case  is 
nearly  the  same  with  our  moral  sentiments.  A  man  of 
splendid  virtues  attracts  some  esteem  also  to  his  imperfec- 
tions, and,  if  placed  in  a  conspicuous  situation,  may  cor- 
rupt the  moral  sentiments  of  the  multitude  in  the  same 
manner  in  which  he  may  introduce  an  absurd  or  fantastical 
ornament  by  his  whimsical  taste  in  the  articles  of  dress. 
The  commanding  influence  of  Cato's  virtues  seems  to 
have  produced  somewhat  of  this  effect  on  the  minds  of 
some  of  his  admirers.  He  was  accused,  we  are  told,  of 
intemperance  in  wine ;  nor  do  his  apologists  pretend 
altogether  to  deny  the  charge.  "  But,"  says  one  of  them, 
"  it  would  be  much  easier  to  prove  that  intemperance  is  a 
decent  and  respectable  quality  than  that  Cato  could  be 
guilty  of  any  vice."  "  Catoni  ebrietas  objecta  est  ;  et 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  127 

facilius  efficiet,  quisquis  objecerit,  hoc  crimen  honestum, 
quam  turpem  Catonem." 

In  general  it  may  be  remarked,  that,  as  education  may 
vary  in  particular  cases  the  opinions  of  individuals  with 
respect  to  the  objects  of  taste,  without  being  able  to  create 
our  notions  of  beauty  or  deformity,  of  grandeur  or  mean- 
ness, so  education  may  vary  our  sentiments  with  respect 
to  particular  actions,  but  could  not  create  our  notions  of 
right  and  wrong,  of  merit  and  demerit.* 

*  It  is  observed  by  Condorcet  in  his  Eloge  on  Euler,  "  That,  if  we 
except  the  common  maxims  of  morality,  there  is  no  one  truth  which  can 
boast  of  having  been  so  generally  adopted,  or  through  such  a  succession 
of  ages,  as  certain  ridiculous  and  pernicious  errors."  The  assertion, 
although  not  without  some  foundation  in  fact,  is  manifestly  expressed 
by  this  author  in  terms  too  strong  and  unqualified.  I  quote  it  here 
chiefly  on  account  of  the  remarkable  concession  which  it  involves  in 
favor  of  the  fundamental  principles  of  morality  ; —  a  subject  on  which  it 
has  been  generally  alleged,  by  skeptical  writers,  that  our  opinions  are 
more  liable  than  on  most  others  to  be  warped  by  the  influence  of  edu- 
cation and  fashion. 

[Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  a  strenuous  asserter  of  the  general  uni- 
formity of  men's  moral  judgments.  "  I  do  not  speak  of  the  theory  of 
morals,  but  of  the  rule  of  life.  First  examine  the  fact,  and  see  whether, 
from  the  earliest  times,  any  improvement,  or  even  any  change,  has  been 
made  in  the  practical  rules  of  human  conduct.  Look  at  the  code  of 
Moses.  I  speak  of  it  now  as  a  mere  human  composition,  without  con- 
sidering its  sacred  origin.  Considering  it  merely  in  that  light,  it  is  the 
most  ancient  and  the  most  curious  memorial  of  the  early  history  of  man- 
kind. More  than  three  thousand  years  have  elapsed  since  the  compo- 
sition of  the  Pentateuch ;  and  let  any  man,  if  he  is  able,  tell  me  in 
what  important  respects  the  rule  of  life  has  varied  since  that  distant 
period.  Let  the  Institutes  of  Menu  be  explored  with  the  same  view  ; 
we  shall  arrive  at  the  same  conclusion.  Let  the  books  of  false  religion 
be  opened;  it  will  be  found  that  their  moral  system  is,  in  all  its  grand 
features,  the  same.  The  impostors  who  composed  them  were  compelled 
to  pay  this  homage  to  the  uniform  moral  sentiments  of  the  world. 
Examine  the  codes  of  nations,  those  authentic  depositories  of  the  moral 
judgments  of  men  ;  you  everywhere  find  the  same  rules  prescribed, 
the  same  duties  imposed  :  even  the  boldest  of  those  ingenious  skeptics 
who  have  attacked  every  other  opinion  has  spared  the  sacred  and  im- 
mutable simplicity  of  the  rules  of  life.  In  our  common  duties,  Bayle 
and  Hume  agree  with  Bossuet  and  Barrow.  Such  as  the  rule  was  at 
the  first  dawn  of  history,  such  it  continues  till  the  present  day.  Ages 
roll  over  mankind;  mighty  nations  pass  away  like  a  shadow;  virtue 
alone  remains  the  same,  immortal  and  unchangeable." — Memoirs,  by  his 
Son,  Vol.  I.  Chap.  iii.  p.  120 

Even  should  we  think  that  the  statement,  as  here  made,  needs  fur- 
ther qualification,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  common  opinion 
errs  still  more  on  the  other  side.  One  reason  why  the  points  of  dif- 
ference in  morals  are  thought  to  be  more  numerous  than  they  really 
are  is,  that  these  alone  are  made  the  subject  of  frequent  discussion ; 


128  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

II.  Diversity  in  Men's  Moral  Judgments. ,~\  With  re- 
spect to  the  historical  facts  which  have  been  quoted  as 
proofs  that  the  moral  judgments  of  mankind  are  entirely 
factitious,  we  may  venture  to  assert  in  general,  that  none 
of  them  justify  so  very  extravagant  a  conclusion  ;  that  a 
great  part  of  them  are  the  effects  of  misrepresentation  ; 
and  that  others  lead  to  a  conclusion  directly  the  reverse 
of  what  has  been  drawn  from  them.  It  would  hardly  be 
necessary,  in  the  present  times,  to  examine  them  serious- 
ly, were  it  not  for  the  authority  which,  in  the  opinion  of 
many,  they  still  continue  to  derive  from  the  sanction  of 
Mr.  Locke. 

"Have  there  not  been  whole  nations,"  says  this  emi- 
nent philosopher,  "and  those  of  the  most  civilized  peo- 
ple, among  whom  the  exposing  their  children,  and  leaving 
them  in  the  fields  to  perish  by  want  or  wild  beasts,  has 
been  the  practice,  as  little  condemned  or  scrupled  as  the 
begetting  them  ?  Do  they  not  still,  in  some  countries,  put 
them  into  the  same  graves  with  their  mothers,  if  they  die  in 
child-birth,  or  despatch  them,  if  a  pretended  astrologer 
declares  them  to  have  unhappy  stars  ?  And  are  there 
not  places  where,  at  a  certain  age,  they  kill  or  expose 
their  parents  without  any  remorse  at  all  ?  Where,  then, 
are  our  innate  ideas  of  justice,  piety,  gratitude  ;  or  where 
is  that  universal  consent  that  assures  us  there  are  such 
inbred  rules  ?  "  * 

•To  this  question  of  Locke's  so  satisfactory  an  answer 
has  been  given  by  various  writers,  that  it  would  be  super- 
fluous to  enlarge  on  the  subject  here.  It  is  sufficient  to 
refer,  on  the  origin  of  infanticide,  to  Mr.  Smith's  The- 
ory of  Moral  Sentiments ;  f  and  on  the  alleged  impiety 
among  some  rude  tribes  of  children  towards  their  parents, 
to  Charron  Sur  la  Sagesse,$  and  to  an  excellent  note  of 
Dr.  Beattie's  in  his  Essay  on  Fable  and  Romance.  The 

and  properly  so,  because  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  they  can  be  cleared 
up,  and  harmony,  as  a  consequence,  be  established  or  restored. —  ED.] 

«  Book  I.  Chap.  iii.  §  9. 

t  Part  V.  Chap.  ii. 

|  Liv.  II.  Chap.  viii.  Charron's  argument  is  evidently  pointed  at  cer- 
tain passages  in  Montaigne 's  Essays,  in  which  that  ingenious  writer  has 
fallen  into  a  train  of  thought  very  similar  to  that  which  is  the  ground- 
work of  Locke's  reasonings  against  innate  practical  principles. 


DIVERSITY    IX    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  129 

reasonings  of  the  last  two  writers  are  strongly  confirmed 
by  Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  Voyage  for  the  Discovery  of  a  North- 
west Passage,  and  by  Mr.  Curtis  (afterwards  Sir  Roger 
Curtis),  in  a  paper  containing  Some  Particulars  with  re- 
spect to  the  Country  of  Labradore,  published  in  the  Phil- 
osophical Transactions  for  the  year  1773. 

In  order  to  form  a  competent  judgment  on  facts  of  this 
nature,  it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  a  variety  of  considera- 
tions which  have  been  too  frequently  overlooked  by  philos- 
ophers ;  and,  in  particular,  to  make  proper  allowances  for 
the  three  following  :  — 

1.  For   the  different  situations  in  which  mankind  are 
placed,  partly  by  the  diversity  in  their  physical  circum- 
stances, and  partly  by  the  unequal  degrees  of  civilization 
which  they  have  attained. 

2.  For   the    diversity    of  their   speculative    opinions, 
arising  from  their  unequal  measures  of  knowledge  or  of 
capacity  ;  and, 

3.  For  the  different  moral  import  of  the  same  action 
under  different  systems  of  external  behaviour. 

III.  First  Cause  of  Diversity  in  Men's  Moral  Judg- 
ments. Difference  of  Condition.  ( 1 .)  Jls  regards  Proper- 
ty.] In  a  part  of  the  globe  where  the  soil  and  climate 
are  so  favorable  as  to  yield  all  the  necessaries  and  many 
of  the  luxuries  of  life  with  little  or  no  labor^on  the  part  of 
man,  it  may  reasonably  be  expected  that-the  ideas  of  man 
will  be  more  loose  concerning  the  rights  of  property  than 
where  nature  has  been  less  liberal  in  her  gifts.  As  the 
right  of  property  is  founded,  in  the  first  instance,  on  the 
natural  sentiment,  that  the  laborer  is  entitled  to  the  fruits 
of  his  own  labor,  it  is  not  surprising  that,  where  little  or 
no  labor  is  required  for  the  gratification  of  our  desires, 
theft  should  be  regarded  as  a  very  venial  offence.  There 
is  here  no  contradiction  in  the  moral  judgments  of  man- 
kind. Men  feel  there,  with  respect  to  those  articles 
which  we  appropriate  with  the  most  anxious  care,  as  we, 
in  this  part  of  the  world,  feel  with  respect  to  air,  light, 
and  icater.  If  a  country  could  be  found  in  which  no  in- 
justice was  apprehended  in  depriving  an  individual  of  an 
enjoyment  which  he  had  provided  for  himself  by  a  lon§ 


130  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

course  of  persevering  industry,  the  fact  would  be  some- 
thing to  the  purpose.  But  this,  we  may  venture  to  say, 
has  not  yet  been  found  to  be  the  case  in  any  quarter  of  the 
globe.  That  the  circumstance  I  have  mentioned  is  the  true 
explanation  of  the  prevalence  of  theft  in  the  South  Sea 
Islands,  and  of  the  venial  light  in  which  it  is  there  regard- 
ed, appears  plainly  from  the  accounts  of  our  most  intelli- 
gent navigators. 

"  There  was  another  circumstance,"  says  Captain 
Cook,  speaking  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Sandwich  Isl- 
ands, "  in  which  the  people  perfectly  resembled  the  other 
islanders  we  had  visited.  At  first,  on  their  entering  the 
ship,  they  endeavoured  to  steal  every  thing  they  came  near, 
or  rather  to  take  it  openly,  as  what  we  either  should  not're- 
sent,  or  not  hinder."  (January,  1778.) 

In  another  place,  talking  of  the  same  people  :  —  "  These 
islanders,"  says  he,  "  merited  our  best  commendations  in 
their  commercial  intercourse,  never  once  attempting  to 
cheat  us,  either  ashore  or  alongside  the  ships.  Some  of 
them,  indeed,  as  already  mentioned,  at  first  betrayed  a 
thievish  disposition  ;  or  rather,  they  thought  that  they  had 
a  right  to  every  thing  they  could  lay  their  hands  on  ;  but 
they  soon  laid  aside  a  conduct  which  we  convinced  them 
they  could  not  persevere  in  with  impunity." 

In  another  part  of  the  voyage,  (April  1778,)  in  which 
he  gives  an  account  of  the  American  Indians  near  King 
George's  Sound,  he  contrasts  their  notions  on  the  subject 
of  theft  with  those  of  the  South  Sea  Islanders.  "  The 
inhabitants  of  the  South  Sea  Islands,  rather  than  be  idle, 
would  steal  any  thing  they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  with- 
out ever  considering  whether  it  could  be  of  use  to  them  or 
no.  The  novelty  of  the  object  was  with  them  a  sufficient 
motive  for  endeavouring,  by  any  indirect  means,  to  get 
possession  of  it  ;  which  marked,  that  in  such  cases  they 
were  rather  actuated  by  a  childish  curiosity  than  by  a  dis- 
honest disposition,  regardless  of  the  modes  of  supplying 
real  wants.  The  inhabitants  of  Nootka,  who  invaded  our 
property,  have  not  such  an  apology.  They  were  thieves 
in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word  ;  for  they  pilfered  nothing 
from  us  but  what  they  knew  could  be  converted  to  the 
purposes  of  private  utility,  and  had  a  real  value,  according 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  131 

to  their  estimation  of  things."  He  adds,  that  u  he  had 
abundant  proof  that  stealing  is  much  practised  among  them- 
selves "  ;  —  but  it  is  evident,  from  the  manner  in  which 
he  expresses  himself,  that  theft  was  not  here  considered  in 
the  same  venial  or  indifferent  light  afe  in  those  parts  of  the 
globe  where  the  bounty  of  nature  deprives  exclusive  prop- 
erty of  almost  all  its  value.* 

In  general  it  will  be  found,  that  the  ideas  of  rude  nations 
on  the  subject  of  property  are  precise  and  decided,  in 
proportion  to  the  degree  of  labor  to  which  they  have  been 
habituated  in  procuring  the  means  of  subsistence.  Of 
one  barbarous  people,  (the  Greenlanders,)  we  are  ex- 
pressly told  by  a  very  authentic  writer,  (Crantz,)  that  their 
regard  to  property  acquired  by  labor  is  not  only  strict,  but 
approaches  to  superstition.  "  Not  one  of  them,"  says  he, 
"  will  appropriate  to  himself  a  sea-dog  in  which  he  finds 
one  or  more  harpoons  with  untorn  thongs  ;  nor  even  carry 
away  drift  wood,  or  other  things  thrown  up  by  the  sea,  if 
they  are  covered  with  a  stone,  because  they  consider  this 
as  an  indication  that  they  have  already  been  appropriated 
by  some  other  person. "f 

IV.  (2.)  Jls  regards  the  Uses  of  Money.}  Another 
very  remarkable  instance  of  an  apparent  diversity  in  the 
moral  judgments  of  mankind  occurs  in  the  contradictory 
opinions  entertained  by  different  ages  and  nations  on  the 
moral  lawfulness  of  exacting  interest  for  the  use  of  money. 
Aristotle,  in  the  first  book  of  his  Politics  (6th  chap.), 
speaking  of  the  various  ways  of  getting  money,  considers 

*  See,  also,  Anderson's  Remarks,  February,  1777,  and  December, 
1777. 

t  The  following  passage  of  Voltaire  is  perhaps  liable  to  the  charge  of 
over-refinement ;  but  it  sufficiently  shows  that  he  saw  clearly  the  gen- 
eral principle  on  which  the  lax  opinions  of  some  nations  on  the  subject 
of  theft  are  to  be  explained. 

"On  a  beau  nous  dire,  qu'a  Lacedemone,  le  larcin  etoit  ordonne ; 
ce  n'est  la  qu'un  abus  des  mots.  La  meme  chose  que  nous  appellons 
larcin,  n'etoit  point  commandee  a  Laced6mone  ;  mais  dans  une  ville, 
ou  tout  etoit  en  commun,  la  permission  qu'on  donnoit  de  prendre  ha- 
bilement  ce  que  des  particuliers  s'approprioient  centre  la  loi,  etoit  une 
maniere  de  punir  1'esprit  de  propricte  dfefendu  chez  ces  peuples.  Le 
tien  ft  le  mien  etoit  un  crime,  dont  ce  que  nous  appellons  larcin  etoit  la 
punition." — Voltaire's  Account  of  Newton 's  Discoveries.  Some  of  his 
other  remarks  on  Locke  are  very  curious. 


132  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

agriculture  and  the  rearing  of  cattle  as  honorable  and 
natural,  because  the  earth  itself,  and  all  animals,  are  by 
nature  fruitful;  "  but  to  make  money  from  money,  which 
is  barren  and  unfruitful,"  he  pronounces  "  to  be  the  worst 
of  all  modes  of  accumulation,  and  the  utmost  corruption 
of  artificial  degeneracy.  By  commerce,"  he  observes, 
"  money  is  perverted  from  the  purpose  of  exchange  to 
that  of  gain.  Still,  however,  this  gain  is  obtained  by  the 
mutual  transfer  of  different  objects  ;  but  usury,  by  trans- 
ferring merely  the  same  object  from  one  hand  to  another, 
generates  money  from  money  ;  and  the  interest  thus  gen- 
erated is  therefore  called  '  offspring,'  as  being  precisely  of 
the  same  nature,  and  of  the  same  specific  substance,  with 
that  from  which  it  proceeds."  * —  Similar  sentiments  with 
respect  to  usury  (under  which  title  wras  comprehended 
every  premium,  great  or  small,  which  was  received  by 
way  of  interest)  occur  in  the  Roman  writers.  "  Concern- 
ing the  arts,"  says  Cicero,  in  his  first  book  De  Ojficiis, 
"and  the  means  of  acquiring  wealth  which  are  to  be  ac- 
counted liberal,  and  which  mean,  the  following  are  the 
sentiments  usually  entertained.  In  the  first  place,  those 
means  of  gain  are  in  the  least  credit  which  incur  the  hatred 
of  mankind,  as  those  of  tax-gatherers  and  usurers."  The 
same  author,  (in  the  second  book  of  the  same  work,) 
mentions  an  anecdote  of  old  Cato,  who,  being  asked  what 

*  Gillies's  Translation.  The  argument  of  Aristotle  is  so  extremely 
absurd  and  puerile,  that  it  could  never  have  led  this  most  acute  and 
profound  philosopher  to  the  conclusion  it  is  employed  to  support,  but 
may  be  justly  numbered  among  the  instances  in  which  speculative  men 
have  exerted  their  ingenuity  to  defend,  by  sophistical  reasonings,  the 
established  prejudices  of  the  times  in  which  they  lived,  and  in  which 
the.  supposed  evidence  of  the  inference  has  served,  in  their  estimation,  to 
compensate  for  the  weakness  of  the  premises.  It  is,  however,  worthy 
of  remark,  that  the  argument,  such  as  it  is,  was  manifestly  suggested  by 
the  etymology  of  the  word  TOKOS  (interest),  from  the  verb  TiVrw,  pario, 
to  breed  or  bring  forth;  an  etymology  which  seems  to  imply  that  the 
principal  generates  the  interest.  The  same  idea,  too,  occurs  in  the 
scene  between  Antonio  and  Shy  lock,  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice:  — 

"If  thou  wilt  lend  this  money,  lend  it  not 
As  to  thy  friends  ;  (for  when  did  friendship  take 
A  breed  of  barren  metal  from  his  friend  '-') 
But  lend  it  rather  to  thine  enemy, 
Who,  if  he  break,  thou  mayst  with  better  face 
Exact  the  penalties." 

Act  I.  Scene  iii. 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  133 

he  thought  of  lending   money    upon    interest,    answered, 
"  What  do  you  think  of  the  crime  of  murder  ?  " 

In  the  code  of  the  Jewish  legislator,  the  regulations  con- 
cerning loans  imply  manifestly,  that  to  exact  a  premium 
for  the  thing  lent  was  an  act  of  unkindness  unsuitable  to 
the  fraternal  relation  in  which  the  Israelites  stood  to  one 
another.  "  Thou  shalt  not  lend,"  it  is  said,  u  upon  usury 
to  thy  brother :  usury  of  money,  usury  of  victuals,  usury 
of  any  thing  that  is  lent  upon  usury.  Unto  a  stranger 
thou  mayest  lend  upon  usury  ;  but  unto  thy  brother  thou 
shalt  not  lend  upon  usury  ;  that  the  Lord  thy  God  may 
bless  thee  in  all  that  thou  settest  thine  hand  to,  in  the 
land  whither  thou  goest  to  possess  it."  * 

In  consequence  of  this  prohibition  in  the  Mosaic  law, 
the  primitive  Christians,  conceiving  that  they  ought  to  look 
on  all  men,  both  Jews  and  Gentiles,  as  brethren,  inferred, 
(partly,  perhaps,  from  the  prohibition  given  by  Moses,  and 
partly  from  the  general  prejudices  then  prevalent  against 
usury,)  that  it  was  against  the  Christian  law  to  take  inter- 
est from  any  man.  And,  accordingly,  there  is  no  crime 
against  which  the  Fathers  in  their  homilies  declaim  with 
more  vehemence.  The  same  abhorrence  of  usury  of 
every  kind  appears  in  the  canon  law,  insomuch  that  the 
penalty  by  that  law  is  excommunication  ;  nor  is  the  usurer 
allowed  burial  until  he  has  made  restitution  of  what  he  got 
by  usury,  or  security  is  given  that  restitution  shall  be  made 
after  his  death.  About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  we  find  the  divines  of  the  Church  of  England 
very  often  preaching  against  all  interest  for  the  use  of 
money,  even  that  which  the  law  allowed,  as  a  gross  im- 
morality. And  not  much  earlier  it  was  the  general  opinion, 
both  of  divines  and  lawyers,  that,  although  law  permitted 
a  certain  rate  of  interest  to  prevent  greater  evils,  and  in 
compliance  with  the  general  corruption  of  men,  (as  the 
law  of  Moses  permitted  polygamy,  and  authorized  divorce 
for  slight  causes,  among  the  Jews,)  yet  that  the  rules  of 
morality  did  not  sanction  the  taking  any  interest  for  money  ; 
at  least  that  it  was  a  very  doubtful  point  whether  they  did. 
The  same  opinion  was  maintained  in  the  English  House 

*  Deut.  xxiii.  19,  20. 

12 


134  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

of  Commons  by  some  of  the  members  who  were  lawyers, 
in  the  debate  upon  a  bill  brought  in  not  much  more  than  a 
hundred  years  ago. 

I  need  not  remark  how  completely  the  sentiments  of 
mankind  are  now  changed  upon  the  subject  ;  insomuch 
that  a  moralist  or  divine  would  expose  himself  to  ridicule 
if  he  should  seriously  think  it  worth  his  while  to  use  argu- 
ments to  prove  the  lawfulness  of  a  practice  which  was 
formerly  held  in  universal  abhorrence.  The  consistency 
of  this  practice  (in  cases  where  the  debtor  is  able  to  pay 
the  interest)  with  the  strictest  morality  appears  to  us  so 
manifest  and  indisputable,  that  it  would  be  thought  equally 
absurd  to  argue  for  it  as  against  it.* 

The  diversity  of  judgments,  however,  on  this  particular 
question,  instead  of  proving  a  diversity  in  the  moral  judg- 
ments of  mankind,  affords  an  illustration  of  the  uniformity 
of  their  opinions  concerning  the  fundamental  rules  of  moral 
duty. 

In  a  state  where  there  is  little  or  no  commerce,  the 
great  motive  for  borrowing  being  necessity,  the  value  of  a 
loan  cannot  be  ascertained  by  calculation,  as  it  may  be 
where  money  is  borrowed  for  the  purposes  of  trade.  In 
such  circumstances,  therefore,  every  money-lender  who 
accepts  of  interest  will  be  regarded  in  the  same  odious 
light  in  which  pawnbrokers  are  considered  among  MS  ; 
and  the  man  "  who  putteth  out  his  money  to  usury  "  will 
naturally  be  classed  (as  he  is  in  the  words  of  Scripture) 
with  him  who  "  taketh  reward  against  the  innocent."  f 

*  A  learned  gentleman,  indeed,  of  the  Middle  Temple,  Mr  Plow- 
,  den,  (a  lawyer,  1  believe,  of  the  Roman  Catholic  persuasion,)  who  pub- 
lished, about  thirty  years  ago,  a  Treatise  -upon  the  Law  of  Usury  and 
Annuities,  has  employed  no  less  than  fifty-nine  pages  of  his  work  in 
considering  the  law  of  usury  in  a  spiritual  view,  in  order  to  establish  the 
following  conclusion  :  —  "That  it  is  not  sinful,  but  lawful,  for  a  British 
subject  to  receive  legal  interest  for  the  money  he  may. lend,  whether  he 
receive  it  in  annual  dividends  from  the  public,  or  in  interest  from 
private  individuals  who  may  have  borrowed  it  upon  mortgage,  bond,  or 
otherwise  "  M.  Necker,  too,  in  the  notes  annexed  to  his  Eloge  on 
Colbert,  thought  it  necessary  for  him  to  offer  an  apology  to  the  Church 
of  Rome  for  the  freedom  with  which  he  ventured  to  write  upon  this 
critical  subject.  "  Ce  que  je  dis  de  interet  est  sous  un  point  de  vue 
politique,  et  n'a  point  de  rapport  avec  les  respectables  maximes  de  la 
religion  sur  ce  point." 
t  Ps.  xv.  5. 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  135 

These  considerations,  while  they  account  for  the  origin 
of  the  opinions  concerning  the  practice  of  taking  interest 
for  money  among  those  natious  of  antiquity  whose  com- 
mercial transactions  were  few  and  insignificant,  will  be 
sufficient,  at  the  same  time,  to  establish  its  reasonableness 
and  equity  in  countries  where  money  is  most  commonly 
borrowed  for  the  purposes  of  commercial  profit,  and  where, 
of  consequence,  the  use  of  it  has  a  fixed  and  determinate 
value,  depending  (like  that  of  any  commodity  in  general 
request)  on  the  circumstances  of  the  market  at  the  time. 
In  such  countries  both  parties  are  benefited  by  the  trans- 
action, and  even  the  state  is  a  gainer  in  the  end.  The 
lenders  of  money  are  frequently  widows  and  orphans,  who 
subsist  on  the  interest  of  their  slender  funds,  while  the 
borrowers  as  frequently  belong  to  the  most  opulent  class 
of  the  community,  who  wish  to  enlarge  their  capital  and 
extend  their  trade  ;  and  who,  by  doing  so,  are  enabled  to 
give  further  encouragement  to  industry,  and  to  supply 
labor  and  bread  to  the  indigent. 

The  prejudices,  therefore,  against  usury  among  the 
ancient  philosophers  were  the  natural  result  of  the  state  of 
society  which  fell  under  their  observation.  The  prohibi- 
tion of  usury  among  the  Jews  in  their  own  mutual  transac- 
tions, while  they  were  permitted  to  take  a  premium  for  the 
money  which  they  lent  to  strangers,  was  in  perfect  con- 
sistency with  the  other  principles  of  their  political  code  ; 
commerce  being  interdicted  as  tending  to  an  intercourse 
with  idolaters,  and  mortgages  prevented  by  the  indefeasi- 
ble right  which  every  man  had  to  his  lands. 

V.  (3.)  Want  of  an  Efficient  Police.}  I  shall  only 
mention  one  instance  more  to  illustrate  the  effects  of  dif- 
ferent states  of  society  in  modifying  the  moral  judgments 
of  mankind.  It  relates  to  the  crime  of  assassination,  which 
we  now  justly  consider  as  the  most  dreadful  of  any  ;  but 
which  must  necessarily  have  been  viewed  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent light  when  laws  and  magistrates  were  unknown,  and 
when  the  only  check  on  injustice  was  the  principle  of 
resentment.  As  it  is  the  nature  of  this  principle,  not  only 
to  seek  the  punishment  of  the  delinquent,  but  to  prompt 
the  injured  person  to  inflict  the  punishment  with  his  own 


136  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

hand,  so  in  every  country  the  criminal  jurisdiction  of  the 
magistrate  has  been  the  last  branch  of  his  authority  that 
was  established.  Where  the  police,  therefore,  is  weak, 
murders  must  not  only  be  more  frequent,  but  are  really 
less  criminal,  than  in  a  society,  like  ours,  where  the  pri- 
vate rights  of  individuals  are  completely  protected  by  law, 
and  where  there  hardly  occurs  an  instance,  excepting  in  a 
case  of  self-defence,  in  which  one  man  can  be  justified  for 
shedding  the  blood  of  another.  And  even  when,  in  a 
rude  age,  a  murder  is  committed  from  unjustifiable  mo- 
tives of  self-interest  or  jealousy,  yet  the  frequency  of  the 
occurrence  prevents  the  minds  of  men  from  revolting  so 
strongly  at  the  sight  of  blood  as  we  do  at  present.  It  is 
on  this  very  principle  that  Mr.  Mitford  accounts  for  the 
manners  and  ideas  that  prevailed  in  the  heroic  ages  of 
Greece. 

But  it  is  unnecessary,  on  this  head,  to  appeal  to  the  his- 
tory of  early  times,  or  of  distant  nations.  In  our  own 
country  of  Scotland,  about  two  centuries  ago,  what  shock- 
ing murders  were  perpetrated,  and  seemingly  without  re- 
morse, by  men  who  were  by  no  means  wholly  destitute  of 
a  sense  of  religion  and  morality  !  Dr.  Robertson  remarks, 
that  "  Buchanan  relates  the  murder  of  Cardinal  Beatoun 
and  of  Rizzio  without  expressing  those  feelings  which  are 
natural  to  a  man,  or  that  indignation  which  became  an 
historian.  Knox,  whose  mind  was  fiercer  and  more  un- 
polished, talks  of  the  death  of  Beatoun  and  of  the  Duke  of 
Guise,  not  only  without  censure,  but  with  the  utmost  ex- 
ultation. On  the  other  hand,  the  Bishop  of  Ross  men- 
tions the  assassination  of  the  Earl  of  Murray  with  some 
degree  of  applause.  Blackwood  dwells  on  it  with  the 
most  indecent  triumph  ;  and  ascribes  it  directly  to  the 
hand  of  God.  Lord  Ruthven,  the  principal  actor  in  the 
conspiracy  against  Rizzio,  wrote  an  account  of  it  some 
time  before  his  own  death  ;  and  in  all  his  long  narrative 
there  is  not  one  expression  of  regret,  or  one  symptom  of 
compunction,  for  a  crime  no  less  dishonorable  than  bar- 
barous. Morton,  equally  guilty  of  the  same  crime,  enter- 
tained the  same  sentiments  concerning  it ;  and  in  his  last 
moments,  neither  he  himself,  nor  the  ministers  who  attended 
him,  seem  to  have  considered  it  as  an  action  which  called 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  137 

for  repentance.  Even  then  he  talks  of  'David's  slaugh- 
ter '  as  coolly  as  if  it  had  been  an  innocent  or  commenda- 
ble deed."* 

.  "The  reflections  of  Dr.  Robertson  on  these  assassina- 
tions, which  were  formerly  so  common  in  this  country,  are 
candid  and  judicious.  "  In  consequence  of  the  limited 
power  of  our  princes,  the  administration  of  justice  was 
extremely  feeble  and  dilatory.  An  attempt  to  punish  the 
crimes  of  a  chieftain, .or  even  of  his  vassals,  often  excited 
rebellions  and  civil  wars.  To  nobles  haughty  and  inde- 
pendent, among  whom  the  causes  of  discord  were  many 
and  unavoidable  ;  who  were  quick  in  discerning  an  injury, 
and  impatient  to  revenge  it ;  who  esteemed  it  infamous  to 
submit  to  an  enemy,  and  cowardly  to  forgive  him  ;  who 
considered  the  right  of  punishing  those  who  had  injured 
them  as  a  privilege  of  their  order,  and  a  mark  of  indepen- 
dency ;  such  slow  proceedings  were  extremely  unsatisfac- 
tory. The  blood  of  their  adversary  was,  in  their  opinion, 
the  only  thing  that  could  wash  away  an  affront.  Where 
that  was  not  shed,  their  revenge  was  disappointed  ;  their 
courage  became  suspected,  and  a  stain  was  left  on  their 
honor.  That  vengeance  which  the  impotent  hand  of  the 
magistrate  could  not  inflict  their  own  could  easily  execute. 
Under  a  government  so  feeble,  men  assumed,  as  in  a  state 
of  nature,  the  right  of  judging  and  redressing  their  own 
wrongs.  And  thus  assassination,  a  crime  of  all  others  the 
most  destructive  to  society,  came  not  only  to  be  allowed, 
but  to  be  deemed  honorable."  In  another  passage  he  ob- 
serves, that  "  mankind  became  thus  habituated  to  blood, 
not  only  in  times  of  war,  but  of  peace  ;  and  from  this,  as 

*  History  of  Scotland,  Book  IV.  The  following  lines,  in  which  Sir 
David  Lindsay  reprobates  the  murder  of  his  contemporary  and  enemy, 
Cardinal  Beatoun,  deserve  to  be  added  to  the  instances  quoted  by  D"r. 
Robertson,  as  an  illustration  of  the  moral  sentiments  of  our  ancestors. 
They  are  expressed  with  a  nalvetd  which  places  in  a  strong  light  both 
the  moral  and  religious  principles  of  that  age. 

"  As  for  this  Cardinal,  I  grant, 
He  was  a  man  we  well'might  want; 

God  will  forgive  it  soon : 
But  of  a  sooth,  the  truth  to  say, 
Altho'  the  loun  be  well  away, 
The  act  was  foully  done." 
12* 


138  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

well  as  other  causes,  contracted  an  amazing    ferocity  of 
temper  and  of  manners." 

VI.  Second  Cause  of  Diversity  in  Men's  MoralJudg- 
ments.  Difference  in  Speculative  Opinions.'}  The  second 
cause  I  mentioned  of  the  apparent  diversity  among  man- 
kind in  their  moral  judgments  is  the  diversity  in  their  spec- 
ulative opinions. 

The  manner  in  which  this  cause -operates  will  appear 
obvious  if  it  be  considered  that  nature,  by  the  suggestions 
of  our  moral  principles,  only  recommends  to  us  particular 
ends,  but  leaves  it  to  our  reason  to  ascertain  the  most 
effectual  means  by  which  these  ends  are  to  be  attained. 
Thus  nature  points  out  to  us  our  own  happiness,  and  also 
the  happiness  of  our  fellow-creatures,  as  objects  towards 
the  attainment  of  which  our  best  exertions  ought  to  be  di- 
rected ;  but  she  has  left  us  to  exercise  our  reason,  both  in 
ascertaining  what  the  constituents  of  happiness  are,  and 
how  they  may  be  most  completely  secured.  Hence,  ac- 
cording to  the  different  points  of  view  in  which  these  sub- 
jects of  consideration  may  appear  to  different  understand- 
ings, there  must  of  necessity  be  a  diversity  of  judgments 
with  respect  to  the  morality  of  the  same  actions.  One 
man,  for  example,  believes  that  the  happiness  of  society 
is  most  effectually  consulted  by  an  implicit  obedience  in 
all  cases  to  the  will  of  the  civil  magistrate.  Another,  that 
the  mischiefs  to  be  apprehended  from  resistance  and  insur- 
rection in  cases  of  urgent  necessity  are  trifling  when  com- 
pared with  those  which  may  result  to  ourselves  and  our 
posterity  from  an  established  despotism.  The  former 
will  of  course  be  an  advocate  for  the  duty  of  passive  obedi- 
ence ;  the  latter  for  the  right,  and,  in  certain  supposable 
cases,  for  the  obligation  of  resistance.  Both  of  these  men, 
however,  agree  in  the  general  principle,  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  promote  to  the  utmost  of  our  power  the  happiness  of 
society  ;  and  they  differ  from  each  other  only  on  a  specu- 
lative question  of  expediency. 

In  like  manner,  there  is  a  wide  diversity  between  the 
moral  systems  of  ancient  and  modern  times  on  the  subject 
of  suicide.  Both,  however,  agree  in  this,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  man  to  obey  the  will  of  his  Creator,  and  to  consult 


DIVERSITY    IN    ITS   JUDGMENTS.  139 

every  intimation  of  it  that  his  reason  can  discover,  as  the 
supreme  law  of  his  conduct.  They  differed  only  in  their 
speculative  opinions  concerning  the  interpretation  of  the 
will  of  God,  as  manifested  by  the  dispensations  of  his 
providence  in  the  events  of  human  life.  The  prejudices 
of  the  ancients  on  this  subject  were  indeed  founded  in  a 
very  partial  and  erroneous  view  of  circumstances  (aris- 
ing, however,  not  unnaturally,  from  the  unsettled  state  of 
society  in  the  ancient  republics) ;  but  they  only  afford  an 
additional  instance  of  the  numerous  mistakes  to  which 
human  reason  is  liable  ;  not  of  a  fluctuation  in  the  judg- 
ments of  mankind  concerning  the  fundamental  rules  of 
moral  duty.* 

VII.  Third  Cause  of  Diversity  in  J\f en's  Moral  Judg- 
ments. Different  Systems  of  Behaviour.']  The  different 
moral  import,  too,  of  the  same  material  action,  under  dif- 
ferent systems  of  external  behaviour,  deserves  particular 
attention,  in  forming  an  estimate  of  the  moral  sentiments  of 
different  ages  and  nations. 

This  difference  is  chiefly  owing  to  two  causes  :  —  First, 
to  the  different  conceptions  of  happiness  and  misery,  — 
of  what  is  to  be  desired  and  shunned, — which  men  are 
led  to  form  in  different  states  of  society.  Secondly,  to 
the  effect  of  accident,  which,  as  it  leads  men  to  speak  dif- 
ferent languages  in  different  countries,  so  it  leads  them  to 
express  the  same  dispositions  of  the  heart  by  different 
external  observances. 

1.  Where  the  opinions  of  mankind  vary  concerning  the 
external  circumstances  that  constitute  happiness,  the  ex- 
ternal expressions  of  benevolence  must  vary  of  course. 
Thus,  in  the  fact  referred  to  by  Locke  concerning  the 
Indians  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Hudson's  Bay,  the  wishes 
of  the  aged  parent  being  different  from  what  we  are  ac- 
customed to  observe  in  this  part  of  the  world,  the  marks 
of  filial  affection  on  the  part  of  the  child  must  vary  also. 
"  In  some  countries  honor  is  associated  with  suffering,  and 

*  See  Lieber's  Political  Ethics,  E.  I.  Sect,  xviii.,  where  the  conduct 
of  the  Thugs  of  India  —  a  fanatical  sect  pursuing  murder  as  a  trade,  and 
under  the  supposed  sanction  of  religion  —is  reconciled  with  the  moral 
constitution  of  human  nature. — ED. 


140  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

it  is  reckoned  a  favor  to  be  killed  with  circumstances  of 
torture.  Instances  of  this  occur  in  the  manners  of  some 
American  nations,  and  in  the  pride  which  an  Indian  ma- 
tron feels  when  placed  on  the  funeral  pile  of  her  deceased 
husband."*  In  such  cases  an  action  may  have  to  us  all 
the  external  marks  of  extreme  cruelty,  while  it  proceeded 
from  a  disposition  generous  and  affectionate. 

2.  A  difference  in  the  moral  import  of  the  same  action 
often  arises  from  the  same  accidental  causes  which  lead 
men,  in  different  parts  of  the  globe,  to  express  the  same 
ideas  by  different  arbitrary  signs. 

What  happens  in  the  trifling  forms  and  ceremonies  of 
behaviour  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  operation  of  the  same 
causes  on  more  important  occasions.  "  In  the  general 
principles  of  urbanity,  politeness,  or  civility,  we  may  ven- 
ture to  assert  that  the  opinions  of  all  nations  are  agreed  ; 
but  in  the  expression  of  this  disposition,  we  meet  with 
endless  varieties.  In  Europe,  it  is  the  form  of  respect  to 
uncover  the  head  ;  in  Japan,  the  corresponding  form  is 
said  to  be  to  uncover  the  foot  by  dropping  the  slipper. f 
Persons  unacquainted  with  any  language  but  their  own  are 
apt  to  think  the  words  they  use  natural  and  fixed  expres- 
sions of  things  ;  while  the  words  of  a  different  language 
they  consider  as  mere  jargon,  or  the  result  of  caprice.  In 
the  same  manner,  forms  of  behaviour  different  from  their 
own  appear  offensive  and  irrational,  or  a  perverse  substi- 
tution of  absurd  for  reasonable  manners. 

"  Among  the  varieties  of  this  sort,  we  find  actions,  ges- 
tures, and  forms  of  expression,  in  their  own  nature  indif- 
ferent, entered  into  the  code  of  civil  or  religious  duties, 
and  enforced  under  the  strongest  sanctions  of  public  cen- 
sure or  esteem  ;  or  urjder  the  strongest  denunciations  of 
the  Divine  indignation  or  favor. 

"  Numberless  ceremonies  and  observances  in  the  ritual 

*  Ferguson's  Moral  and  Political  Science,  Part  II.  Chap.  ii.  Sect.  iv. 
[For  facts  in  confirmation  of  this  doctrine,  see  Historical  Illustrations  of 
the  Passions,  particularly  Vol.  I.  Chap.  iii.  and  iv.] 

t  "Even  here,"  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ingeniously  remarks,  "we 
may  perhaps  observe  a  general  idea  running  through  all  the  varieties  ; 
to  wit,  the  general  idea  of  making  the  body  less  in  token  of  respect, 
whether  by  bowing  the  body,  kneeling,  prostration,  pulling  off  the  up- 
per part  of  the  dress,  or  throwing  aside  the  lower." 


DIVERSITY   IN    ITS    JUDGMENTS.  141 

of  different  sects  are  to  be  accounted  for  on  the  same 
principles  which  produce  the  diversity  of  names  or  signs 
for  the  same  thing  in  the  vocabulary  of  different  languages. 
Thus,  the  generality  of  Christians  when  they  pray  take  off 
their  hats  ;  the  Jews  when  they  pray  put  them  on.  Such 
acts,  how  strongly  soever  they  may  affect  the  imaginations 
of  the  multitude,  may  justly  be  considered  as  part  of  the 
arbitrary  language  of  particular  countries  ;  implying  no 
diversity  whatever  in  the  ideas  or  feelings  of  those  among 
whom  they  are  established."  * 

As  a  further  proof  of  the  impossibility  of  judging  of  the 
general  character  of  a  people  from  their  opinions  concern- 
ing the  morality  of  particular  actions,  we  may  observe, 
that,  in  some  of  the  writings  of  the  ancient  moralists,  we 
meet  with  the  most  refined  and  sublime  precepts  blended 
promiscuously  with  dissuasives  from  the  most  shocking 
and  detestable  crimes  ;  in  one  sentence,  perhaps,  a  pre- 
cept which  may  be  read  with  advantage  by  the  most 
enlightened  of  the  present  times  ;  and  in  the  next,  a  dis- 
suasive from  some  crime  which  no  one  now  could  be  sup- 
posed to  perpetrate  who  was  not  arrived  at  the  last  stage 
of  depravity. 

I  have  dwelt  very  long  on  this  subject,  because,  if  it  be 
painful  to  be  staggered  in  our  belief  of  the  immutability  of 
moral  distinctions  by  the  first  aspect  of  the  history  of 
mankind,  it  affords  a  tenfold  pleasure  to  those  who  feel 
themselves  interested  in  the  cause  of  morality,  when  they 
find,  on  an  accurate  examination,  that  those  facts  on  which 
skeptics  have  laid  the  greatest  stress  are  not  only  con- 
sistent with  the  moral  constitution  of  man,  but  result 
necessarily  from  this  constitution,  diversified  in  its  effects 
according  to  the  different  circumstances  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual is  situated.  To  trace  in  this  manner  the  essential 
principles  of  the  human  frame,  amidst  the  various  disguises 
it  borrows  from  accidental  causes,  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  employments  of  philosophical  curiosity  ;  nor  is 
there,  perhaps,  a  more  satisfactory  gratification  to  a  liberal 
mind,  than  when  it  recognizes,  under  ihe  superstition,  the 
ignorance,  and  the  loathsome  sensualities  of  savage  life,  the 

*  See  Ferguson's  Moral  and  Political  Science,  Part  II.  Chap.  ii.  Sect.  iv. 


142  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

kindred  features  of  humanity,  and  the  indelible  vestiges  of 
that  Divine  image  after  which  man  was  originally  formed. 

VIII.  Locke's  Connection  with  this  Controversy.']  The 
doctrines  on  this  subject  which  I  have  hitherto  been  en- 
deavouring to  refute,  (how  erroneous  soever  in  their  prin- 
ples,  and  dangerous  in  their  consequences,)  have  been 
maintained  by  some  writers,  who  certainly  were  not  un- 
friendly in  their  views  to  the  interests  of  virtue  and  of 
mankind.  In  proof  of  this,  I  need  only  mention  the  name 
of  Mr.  Locke,  who,  in  the  course  of  a  long  and  honorable 
life,  distinguished  himself  no  less  by  the  exemplary  worth 
of  his  private  character,  and  by  his  ardent  zeal  for  civil 
and  religious  liberty,  than  by  the  depth  and  originality  of 
his  philosophical  speculations.  His  errors,  however,  ought 
not,  on  these  accounts,  to  be  treated  with  reverence  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  they  require  a  more  careful  and  severe 
examination,  in  consequence  of  the  high  authority  they 
derive  from  his  genius  and  his  virtues.  And,  accordingly, 
I  have  enlarged  on  such  of  his  opinions  as  seemed  to  me 
favorable  to  skeptical  vie.ws  concerning  the  foundation  of 
morals,  at  much  greater  length  than  the  ingenuity  or  plau- 
sibility of  his  reasonings  in  support  of  them  may  appear  to 
some  to  have  merited. 

To  these  opinions  of  Locke  Lord  Shaftesbury  has 
alluded,  in  various  parts  of  his  works,  with  a  good  deal  of 
indignation  ;  and  particularly  in  the  following  passage  of 
his  Jldvice  to  an  Author.  "One  would  imagine  that  our 
philosophical  writers,  who  pretend  to  treat  of  morals, 
should  far  outdo  our  poets  in  recommending  virtue,  and 
representing  what  is  fair  and  amiable  in  human  actions. 
One  would  imagine,  that,  if  they  turned  their  eyes  towards 
remote  countries,  (of  which  they  affect  so  much  to  speak,) 
they  should  search  for  that  simplicity  of  manners,  and 
innocence  of  behaviour,  which  has  been  often  known 
among  mere  savages,  ere  they  were  corrupted  by  our 
commerce,  and,  by  sad  example,  instructed  in  all  kinds  of 
treachery  and  inhumanity.  It  would  be  of  advantage  to 
us  to  hear  the  cause  of  this  strange  corruption  in  ourselves, 
and  be  made  to  consider  of  our  deviation  from  nature, 
and  from  that  just  purity  of  manners  which  might  be  ex- 


LOCKE.  143 

pected,  especially  from  a  people  so  assisted  and  enlight- 
ened by  religion.  For  who  would  not  naturally  expect 
more  justice,  fidelity,  temperance,  and  honesty  from  Chris- 
tians than  from  Mahometans  or  mere  Pagans  ?  But  so  far 
are  our  modern  moralists  from  condemning  any  unnatural 
vices  or  corrupt  manners,  whether  in  our  own  or  foreign 
climates,  that  they  would  have  vice  itself  appear  as  natural 
as  virtue  ;  and,  from  the  worst  examples,  would  represent 
to  us,  '  that  all  actions  are  naturally  indifferent ;  that  they 
have  no  note  or  character  of  good  or  ill  in  themselves,  but 
are  distinguished  by  mere  fashion,  law,  or  arbitrary  de- 
cree.' Wonderful  philosophy  !  raised  from  the  dregs  of 
an  illiterate,  mean  kind,  which  was  ever  despised  among 
the  great  ancients,  and  rejected  by  all  men  of  action  or  , 
sound  erudition  ;  but,  in  these  ages,  imperfectly  copied 
from  the  original,  and,  with  much  disadvantage,  imitated 
and  assumed  in  common,  both  by  devout  and  indevout 
atternpters  in  the  moral  kind."  * 

Besides  these  incidental  remarks  on  Locke,  which  occur 
in  different  parts  of  Shaftesbury's  writings,  there  is  a  let- 
ter of  his  addressed  to  a  student  at  the  university,  which 
relates  almost  entirely  to  the  opinion  we  have  been  con- 
sidering, and  contains  some  excellent  observations  on  the 
subject. 

In  this  letter  Lord  Shaftesbury  observes,  that  "  all  those 
called  free  writers  novv-a-days  have  espoused  those  prin- 
ciples which  Mr.  Hobbes  set  afoot  in  this  last  age."  — 
"  Mr.  Locke,"  he  continues,  "as  much  as  I  honor  him 
on  account  of  other  writings  (viz.  on  government,  policy, 
trade,  coin,  education,  toleration,  &c.),  and  as  well  as  I 
knew  him,  and  can  answer  for  his  sincerity  as  a  most 
zealous  Christian  and  believer,  did  however  go  in  the  self- 
same track,  and  is  followed  by  the  Tindals,  and  all  the 
other  ingenious  free  authors  of  our  time. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Locke  that  struck  the  home  blow  ;  for 
Mr.  Hobbes's  character  and  base  slavish  principles  of 
government  took  off  the  poison  of  his  philosophy.  It  was 
Mr.  Locke  that  struck  at  all  fundamentals,  threw  all  order 
and  virtue  out  of  the  world,  and  made  the  very  ideas  of 

*  Part  III.  Sect.  Hi. 


144  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

these  (which  are  the  same  with  those  of  God)  unnatural, 
and  without  foundation  in  our  minds.  Innate  is  a  word 
he  poorly  plays  upon  ;  the  right  word,  though  less  used,  is 
connatural.  For  what  has  birth,  or  progress  of  the  foetus 
out  of  the  womb,  to  do  in  this  case  ?  The  question  is  not 
about  the  time  the  ideas  entered,  or  the  moment  that  one 
body  came  out  of  the  other,  but  whether  the  constitution 
of  man  be  such,  that,  being  adult  and  grown  up,  at  such  or 
such  a  time,  sooner  or  later,  (no  matter  when,)  the  idea 
and  sense  of  order,  administration,  and  a  God  will  not 
infallibly,  inevitably,  necessarily,  spring  up  in  him  ?  "  * 

In  this  last  remark,  Lord  Shaftesbury  appears  to  me  to 
place  the  question  concerning  innate  ideas  upon  the  right 
and  only  philosophical  footing,  and  to  afford  a  key  to  all 
the  confusion  which  runs  through  Locke's  argument  on  the 
subject.  The  observations  which  follow  are  not  less  just 
and  valuable  ;  but  I  must  not  indulge  myself  in  any  further 
extracts  at  present.! 

These  passages  of  Shaftesbury,  in  some  of  which  the 
warmth  of  his  temper  has  betrayed  him  into  expressions 
disrespectful  to  Locke,  have  drawn  on  him  a  number  of 
very  severe  animadversions,  particularly  from  Warburton, 
in  the  preface  to  his  Divine  Legation  of  J\Ioses.  But 
although  Shaftesbury's  personal  allusions  to  Locke  cannot 
be  justified,  some  allowance  ought  to  be  made .  for  the 

*  Letters  to  a  Student  at  the  University,  Let.  VIII. 

t  Notwithstanding,  however,  the  countenance  which  Locke's  reason- 
ings against  innate  practical  principles  have  the  appearance  of  giving  to 
the  philosophy  of  Hobbes,  I  have  not  a  doubt  that  the  difference  of 
opinion  between  him  and  Lord  Shaftesbury  on  this  point  was  almost 
entirely  verbal.  Of  this  I  have  elsewhere  produced  ample  proofs;  but 
the  following  passage  will  suffice  for  my  present  purpose.  "  I  would 
not  be  mistaken,  as  if,  because  I  deny  an  innate  law,  I  thought  there 
were  none  but  positive  laws.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  difference  be- 
tween an  innate  law  and  a  law  of  nature,  between  something  imprinted 
on  our  minds  in  their  very  original,  and  something  that  we,  being 
ignorant  of,  may  attain  to  the  knowledge  of,  by  the  use  and  due  appli- 
cation of  our  natural  faculties.  And  I  think  they  equally  forsake  the 
truth,  who,  running  into  the  contrary  extremes,  either  affirm  an  innate 
law,  or  deny  that  there  is  a  law  knowable  by  the  light  of  nature,  with- 
out the  help  of  a  positive  revelation."  — Locke's  Essay  concerning  Hu- 
man Understanding,  B.  I.  Chap.  iii.  §  13. 

[See,  however,  Cousin,  Hisloire  de  la  Philosophic,  dv  XVIIIe-  Siecle, 
Tom.  II.  Lecon  XXe.  Or  Professor  Henry's  translation:  Elements  of 
Psychology,  Chap.v.] 


LICENTIOUS    SYSTEMS.  145 

indignation  of  a  generous  mind  at  a  doctrine  which  (how- 
ever well  meant  by  the  proposer)  strikes  at  the  very  root 
of  morality.  In  this  instance,  too,  it  is  not  improbable 
that  the  discussion  of  the  general  argument  may  have  added 
to  the  asperity  of  his  style,  by  reviving  the  memory  of  the 
private  controversies  which,  it  is  presumable,  had  formerly 
been  carried  on  between  Locke  and  him  on  this  important 
subject.  It  is  well  known  that  Shaftesbury  was  Locke's 
pupil,  and  also  that  their  tempers  and  literary  tastes  were 
not  suitable  to  each  other.  In  this  it  is  commonly  sup- 
posed that  the  former  was  to  blame  ;  but,  I  presume,  not 
wholly.  Dr.  Warton  tells  us,  that  Mr.  Locke  affected 
to  despise  poetry,  and  that  he  depreciated  the  ancients  ; 
"  which  circumstance,"  he  adds,  "  as  I  am  informed  from 
undoubted  authority,  was  the  subject  of  perpetual  dis- 
content and  dispute  between  him  and  his  pupil,  Lord 
Shaftesbury."  *  That  Shaftesbury  was  not  insensible  to 
Locke's  real  merits  appears  sufficiently  from  a  passage 
in  the  first  of  his  Letters  to  a  Student  at  the  University. 
11  However,  I  am  not  sorry  that  I  lent  you  Locke's  Essay. 
a  book  that  may  as  well  qualify  men  for  business  and  the 
world  as  for  the  sciences  and  the  university.  No  one  has 
done  more  towards  the  recalling  of  philosophy  from  bar- 
barity into  use  and  practice  of  the  world,  and  into  the 
company  of  the  better  and  politer  sort,  who  might  well  be 
ashamed  of  it  in  its  other  dress.  No  one  has  opened  a 
better  and  clearer  way  to  reasoning." 


. 

SECTION    IV. 

LICENTIOUS    SYSTEMS    OF    MORALS. 

I.  Character  of  the  Systems  so  namerf.]  The  theo- 
ries concerning  the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas  which  we 
are  now  to  consider,  although  they  agree  in  many  re- 
spects with  that  of  Locke  and  his  followers,  have  yet  pro- 
ceeded from  very  different  views  and  intentions.  They 
also  involve  some  principles  that  are  peculiar  to  them- 
selves, and  which,  therefore,  render  a  separate  examina- 

*  Essay  on  the  Genius  and  Writings  of  Pope,  Sect.  XII. 

13 


146  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

tion  of  them  necessary  for  the  complete  illustration  of  this 
fundamental  article  of  ethics.  They  have  been  distin- 
guished by  Mr.  Smith  by  the  name  of  the  Licentious  Sys- 
tems of  Morals,  —  a  name  which  certainly  cannot  be  cen- 
sured as  too  harsh,  when  applied  to  those  which  maintain 
that  the  motives  of  all  men  are  fundamentally  the  same, 
and  that  what  we  commonly  call  virtue  is  mere  hypocrisy. 
Among  the  licentious  moralists  of  modern  times,  the 
most  celebrated  are  the  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  author 
of  the  Maxims  and  Moral  Reflections,  and  Dr.  Mande- 
ville,  author  of  the  Fable  of  the  Bees.  By  the  generality 
of  our  English  philosophers,  these  two  writers  are  com- 
monly coupled  together  as  advocates  for  the  same  system, 
although  their  views  and  their  characters  were  certainly 
extremely  different.  In  the  first  editions  of  Mr.  Smith's 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  he  speaks  of  a  licentious 
doctrine  concerning  morality,  which,  he  says,  "  was  first 
sketched  by  the  delicate  pencil  of  the  Due  de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld, and  was  afterwards  enforced  by  the  coarse  but  pow- 
erful eloquence  of  Dr.  Mandeville."  In  the  last  edition 
of  that  work  the  name  of  La  Rochefoucauld  is  omitted, 
from  Mr.  Smith's  deliberate  conviction  that  it  was  unjust 
to  his  memory  to  class  him  with  an  author  whose  writings 
tend  directly  to  confound  all  our  ideas  of  moral  distinc- 
tions. On  this  point  I  speak  from  personal  knowledge, 
having  been  requested  by  Mr.  Smith,  when  I  happened  to 
be  at  Paris  some  years  before  his  death,  to  express  to  the 
late  excellent  and  unfortunate  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld 
his  sincere  regret  for  having  introduced  the  name  of  his 
ancestor  and  that  of  Dr.  Mandeville  in  the  same  sentence. 

IT.  La  Rochefoucauld^ 's  Life  and  Personal  Character.'} 
The  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  author  of  the  Maxims, 
was  born  in  1613,  and  died  in  1680.  The  early  part  of 
his  education  was  neglected  ;  but  the  disadvantages  he 
labored  under  in  consequence  of  this  circumstance  he  in 
a  great  measure  overcame  by  the  force  of  his  own  talents. 
According  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  knew  him  well, 
"  he  was  possessed  of  a  countenance  prepossessing  and 
interesting  ;  of  manners  graceful  and  dignified  ;  of  much 
genius,  and  little  acquired  knowledge."  The  same  excel- 


LA    ROCHEFOUCAULD.  147 

lent  judge  adds  of  him,  that  "  he  was  intriguing,  accom- 
modating, and  cautious  ;  but  that  she  had  never  known  a 
friend  more  firm,  more  open,  or  whose  counsels  were  of 
greater  value.  He  loved  raillery  ;  and  used  to  say,  that 
personal  bravery  appeared  to  him  nothing  better  than  folly  ; 
and  yet  he  himself  was  brave  to  an  extreme.  He  pre- 
served to  the  last  the  vivacity  of  his  mind,  which  was 
always  agreeable,  though  naturally  serious." 

In  the  share  which  he  took  in  the  political  transactions 
of  his  times,  he  discovered  a  facility  to  engage  in  intrigues, 
without  much  steadiness  in  the  pursuit  of  his  object. 
This,  at  least,  is  a  remark  made  on  him  by  the  Cardinal 
de  Retz,  who,  in  a  portrait  of  him  drawn  with  a  masterly, 
though  somewhat  prejudiced  hand,  ascribes  the  apparent 
inconsistencies  of  his  conduct  to  a  natural  want  of  resolu- 
tion. A  later  writer,*  more  favorable  to  his  memory,  has 
attempted  to  account  for  them,  with  much  plausibility,  by 
that  superiority  of  penetration,  and  that  rigid  integrity, 
which  all  his  contemporaries  allow  to  have  been  distin- 
guishing features  in  his  character  ;  and  which,  though  not 
sufficient  to  keep  him  wholly  disengaged  from  intrigues  in 
a  court  where  every  thing  was  put  in  motion  by  the  spirit 
of  party,  rendered  him  soon  disgusted  with  the  pretended 
patriotism  and  the  selfish  politics  of  those  with  whom  he 
acted.  Accordingly,  although  he  was  induced  by  the 
force  of  early  connections,  and  a  natural  facility  of  temper, 
to  involve  himself  during  a  part  of  his  life  in  public  affairs, 
and  more  particularly,  to  become  a  tool  of  the  Duchess  of 
Longueville  in  the  cabals  of  the  Fronde,  his  own  taste 
seems  to  have  attached  him  to  a  more  private  scene, 
where  he  could  enjoy  in  freedom  the  society  and  friend- 
ship of  a  few  chosen  companions.  Towards  the  end  of 
his  life  he  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  house  of  Madame 
de  la  Fayeite,  which  appears,  from  the  letters  of  her 
friend,  Madame  de  Sevigne,  to  have  been,  at  that  period, 
the  resort  of  all  persons  distinguished  for  wit  and  refine- 
ment. It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  chosen  society  that  he 
composed  his  Memoirs  of  the  Regency  nf.flnne  of  Austria , 
and  also  his  Moral  Reflections  and  Maxims. 

*  M.  Suard  in  his  edition  of  the  Maximes,  which  appeared  in  1778. 


148  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

III.  Influence  of  his  Writings.]  Of  these  two  works, 
the  former  is  written  with  much  elegance,  and  with  a  great 
appearance  of  sincerity  ;  but  the  events  which  it  records 
are  uninteresting  in  the  present  age.  Bayle,  in  his  Dic- 
tionary, gives  it  the  preference  to  the  Commentaries  of 
Caesar  ;  but  the  judgment  of  the  public  has  not  been 
equally  favorable.  "  The  Memoirs  of  the  Due  de  la 
Rochefoucauld,"  says  Voltaire,  in  his  account  of  the 
writers  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  "are  read;  but  every 
one  knows  his  Jlfaxims  by  heart."  In  fact,  it  is  almost 
entirely  by  these  maxims  (which,  as  Montesquieu  ob- 
serves, "  have  become  the  proverbs  of  men  of  wit  ")  that 
the  name  of  La  Rochefoucauld  is  known  ;  arid  it  must  be 
confessed  that  few  performances  have  acquired  to  their 
authors  a  higher  or  more  general  reputation.  "  One  of 
the  works,"  says  Voltaire,  "  which  contributed  most  to 
form  the  taste  of  the  nation  to  a  justness  and  precision  of 
thought  and  expression,  was  the  small  collection  of  maxims 
by  Francis  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld.  Although  there  is 
but  one  idea  in  the  book,  that  self-love  is  the  spring  of  all 
our  actions,  yet  this  idea  is  presented  in  so  great  a  variety 
of  forms  as  to  be  always  amusing.  When  it  first  appeared, 
it  was  read  with  avidity  ;  and  it  contributed,  more  than 
any  other  performance  since  the  revival  of  letters,  to  ac- 
custom writers  to  indulge  themselves  in  an  originality  of 
thought,  and  to  improve  the  vivacity,  precision,  and  deli- 
cacy of  French  composition."  * 

That  the  tendency  of  these  maxims  is,  upon  the  whole, 
unfavorable  to  morality,  and  that  they  always  leave  a 
disagreeable  impression  on  the  mind,  must,  I  think,  be 
granted. f  At  the  same  time,  it  may  be  fairly  questioned 
if  the  motives  of  the  author  have  in  general  been  well  un- 
derstood, either  by  his  admirers  or  by  his  opponents.  In 
affirming  that  self-love  is  the  spring  of  all  our  actions, 
there  is  no  good  reason  for  supposing  that  he  meant  to 

*  Slide  de  Louis  XIV.,  Chap.  XXXII. 

1  Mr.  Spence,  in  his  Anecdotes  of  Men  and  Books,  ascribes  to  Pope  a 
remark  on  La  Rochefoucauld  which  does  no  small  honor  to  the  poet's 
shrewdness  and  knowledge  of  human  nature.  I  quote  it  in  Spence's 
words.  "As  L'Esprit,  La  Rochefoucauld,  and  that  sort  of  people,  prove 
that  all  virtues  are  disguised  vices,  I  would  engage  to  prove  all  vices  to 
be  disguised  virtues.  Neither,  indeed,  is  true  ;  but  this  would  be  a  more 
agreeable  subject,  and  would  overturn  their  whole  scheme."  —  p.  11. 


LA    ROCHEFOUCAULD.  149 

deny  the  reality  of  moral  distinctions  as  a  philosophical 
truth,  —  a  supposition  quite  inconsistent  with  his  own  6ne 
and  deep  remark,  that  hypocrisy  is  itself  a  homage  ichich 
vice  renders  to  virtue.  He  states  it  merely  as  a  proposi- 
tion, which,  in  the  course  of  his  experience  as  a  man  o4'  the 
world,  he  had  found  very  generally  verified  in  the  higher 
classes  of  society,  and  which  he  was  induced  to  announce, 
without  any  qualification  or  restriction,  in  order  to  give 
more  force  and  poignancy  to  his  satire.  In  adopting  this 
mode  of  writing,  he  has  unconsciously  conformed  himself, 
like  many  other  French  authors,  who  have  since  followed 
his  example,*  to  a  suggestion  which  Aristotle  has  stated 
with  admirable  depth  and  acuteness  in  his  Rhetoric.  "Sen- 
tences or  apophthegms  lend  much  aid  to  eloquence.  One 
reason  of  this  is,  that  they  flatter  the  pride  of  the  hearers, 
who  are  delighted  when  the  speaker,  making  use  of  gen- 
eral language,  touches  upon  opinions  which  they  had  before 
known  to  be  true  in  part.  Thus,  a  person  who  had  the 
misfortune  to  live  in  a  bad  neighbourhood,  or  to  have 
worthless  children,  would  easily  assent  to  the  speaker  who 
should  affirm  that  nothing  is  more  vexatious  than  to  have 
any  neighbours  ;  nothing  more  irrational  than  to  bring 
children  into  the  world."  f  This  observation  of  Aristotle, 

*  Thus  it  has  often  been  said  by  French  writers,  that  "  no  man  is  a 
hero  to  his  valet  de  chambre" ;  and  the  maxim,  when  properly  under- 
stood, has  some  foundation  in  truth.  It  probably  was  meant  by  its 
original  author  to  refer  only  to  those  petty  circumstances  of  temper  and 
behaviour  which,  without  affecting  the  essentials  of  character,  have  a 
tendency  to  diminish,  on  a  near  approach,  the  theatrical  effect  of  great 
men.  It  has,  however,  been  frequently  quoted  as  implying  that  there 
are  none  whose  virtues  will  bear  a  close  examination  ;  in  which  accep- 
tation, it  is  not  more  injurious  to  human  nature  than  it  is  contrary  to 
fact.  How  much  more  profound,  as  well  as  more  pleasing,  is  the  re- 
mark of  Plutarch  !  "  Real  virtue  is  most  loved  where  it  is  most  nearly 
seen,  and  no  respect  which  it  commands  from  strangers  can  equal  the 
never-ceasing  admiration  it  excites  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  domestic 
life." — Vit.  Peridis.  It  is  indeed  true,  that  some  men,  who  are  admired 
by  the  world,  appear  to  most  advantage  when  viewed  at  a  distance  ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  may  it  not  be  contended  that  many  who  are 
objects  of  general  odium  would  be  found,  if  examined  more  nearly,  not 
to  be  destitute  of  estimable  and  amiable  qualities  ?  May  we  not  even 
go  further,  and  assert  that  the  very  worst  of  men  have  a  mixture  of 
good  in  their  composition,  and  to  express  a  doubt  whether  human  na- 
ture would  gain  or  lose  upon  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  conduct 
and  motives  of  individuals? 

t  Lib.  II.  Cap.  xxii. 

13* 


150  THE    MORAL   FACULTY. 

while  it  goes  far  to  account  for  the  imposing  and  dazzling 
effect  of  these  rhetorical  exaggerations,  ought  to  guard  us 
against  the  common  and  popular  error  of  mistaking  them 
for  the  serious  and  profound  generalizations  of  science. 
As  for  La  Rochefoucauld,  we  know,  from  the  best  au- 
thorities, that  in  private  life  he  was  a  conspicuous  example 
of  all  those  moral  qualities  of  which  he  seemed  to  deny 
the  existence  ;  and  that  he  exhibited,  in  this  respect,  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  Cardinal  de  Retz,  who  has  pre- 
sumed to  censure  him  for  his  want  of  faith  in  the  reality 
of  virtue. 

In  reading  La  Rochefoucauld,  it  should  never  be  forgot- 
ten that  it  was  within  the  vortex  of  a  court  he  enjoyed  his 
chief  opportunities  of  studying  the  world,  and  that  the 
narrow  and  exclusive  circle  in  which  he  moved  was  not 
likely  to  afford  him  the  most  favorable  specimens  of  human 
nature  in  general.  Of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  in  par- 
ticular, we  are  told  by  a  very  nice  and  reflecting  observer 
(Madame  de  la  Fayette),  that  "  ambition  and  gallantry 
were  the  soul,  actuating  alike  both  men  and  women.  So 
many  contending  interests,  so  many  different  cabals,  were 
constantly  at  work,  and  in  all  of  those  women  bore  so  im- 
portant a  part,  that  love  was  always  mingled  with  business, 
and  business  with  love.  Nobody  was  tranquil  or  indif- 
ferent. Every  one  studied  to  advance  himself  by  pleasing, 
serving,  or  ruining  others.  Idleness  and  languor  were 
unknown,  and  nothing  was  thought  of  but  intrigues  or 
pleasures." 

In  the  passage  already  quoted  from  Voltaire,  he  takes 
notice  of  the  effect  of  La  Rochefoucauld's  maxims  in  im- 
proving the  style  of  French  composition.  We  may  add  to 
this  remark,  that  their  effect  has  not  been  less  sensible  in 
vitiating  the  tone  and  character  of  French  philosophy,  by 
bringing  into  vogue  those  false  and  degrading  representa- 
tions of  human  nature  and  of  human  life  which  have  pre- 
vailed in  that  country  more  or  less  for  a  century  past. 
Mr.  Addison,  in  one  of  the  papers  of  the  Taller,  ex- 
presses his  indignation  at  this  general  bias  among  the 
French  writers  of  his  age.  "It  is  impossible,"  he  ob- 
serves, "  to  read  a  passage  in  Plato,  or  Tully,  or  a 
thousand  other  ancient  moralists,  without  being  a  greater 


MAXDEVJLLE.  J51 

and  better  man  for  it.  On  the  contrary,  I  could  never 
read  any  of  our  modish  French  authors,  or  those  of  our 
own  country  who  are  the  imitators  and  admirers  of  that 
nation,  without  being  for  some  time  out  of  humor  with 
myself,  and  at  every  thing  about  me.  Their  business  is  to 
depreciate  human  nature,  and  to  consider  it  under  the 
worst  appearances  ;  they  give  mean  interpretations  and 
base  motives  to  the  worthiest  of  actions.  In  short,  they 
endeavour  to  make  no  distinction  between  man  and  man, 
or  between  the  species  of  man  and  that  of  the  brutes." 

IV.  J^Iandeville^s  Writings  and  Moral  System.] 
From  the  form  in  which  La  Rochefoucauld's  maxims  are 
published,  it  is  impossible  to  attempt  a  particular  examina- 
tion of  them  ;  nor,  indeed,  do  I  apprehend  that  such  an 
examination  is  necessary  for  any  of  the  purposes  which  I 
have  at  present  in  view.  So  far  as  their  tendency  is  un- 
favorable to  the  reality  of  moral  distinctions,  it  is  the 
same  with  that  of  Mandeville's  system  ;  and  therefore 
the  strictures  I  am  now  to  offer  on  the  latter  writer  may 
be  applied  with  equal  truth  to  the  general  conclusions 
which  some  have  chosen  to  draw  from  the  satirical  obser- 
vations of  the  former. 

Dr.  Mandeville  was  born  in  Holland,  where  he  received 
his  education  both  in  medicine  and  in  philosophy.  He 
made  his  first  appearance  in  England  about  the  beginning 
of  the  last  century,  and  soon  attracted  very  general  atten- 
tion by  the  vivacity  and  licentiousness  of  his  publications. 

The  work  by  which  he  is  best  known  is  a  poem,  first 
printed  in  17 14^  with  the  title  of  The  Grumbling  Hive, 
or  Knaves  turned  Honest ;  upon  which  he  afterwards 
wrote  Remarks,  and  published  the  whole  at  London  in 
1723,  having  for  its  title  The  Fable  of  the  Bees  :  or  Pri- 
vate Vices,  Public  Benefits.  This  book  was  presented 
by  the  grand  jury  of  Middlesex  the  same  year,  and  was 
severely  animadverted  on  soon  after  by  some  very  eminent 
writers,  particularly  by  Dr.  Berkeley,  Bishop  of  Cloyne, 
and  by  Dr.  Hutcheson  of  Glasgow  in  his  various  treatises 
on  ethical  subjects. 

To  the  Remarks  on  the  Fable  of  the  Bees,  the  author 
has  prefixed  Jin  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  Moral  Virtue  ; 


152  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

and  it  is  to  this  inquiry  that  I  propose  to  confine  myself 
chiefly  in  the  following  strictures,  as  it  exhibits  his  peculiar 
opinions  concerning  the  principles  of  morals  in  a  more 
systematical  form  than  any  of  his  other  writings.  In  the 
course  of  the  observations  which  I  have  to  offer  with  re- 
spect to  it,  I  shall  perhaps  be  led  to  repeat  one  or  two 
remarks  which  were  already  suggested  by  the  doctrines  of 
Locke.  But,  for  this  repetition,  1  hope  that  the  importance 
of  the  subject  will  be  a  sufficient  apology. 

The  great  object  of  Mandeville's  inquiry  into  the  origin 
of  moral  virtue  is  to  show  that  all  our  moral  sentiments 
are  derived  from  education,  and  are  the  workmanship  of 
politicians  and  lawgivers.  "  These,"  says  he,  "  observ- 
ing how  selfish  an  animal  man  is,  and  how  impossible,  in 
consequence,  it  would  be  to  retain  numbers  together  in 
the  same  society  without  government,  endeavoured  to  give 
his  selfish  principles  a  direction  useful  to  the  public.  For 
this  purpose  they  have  labored  in  all  ages  to  convince  him 
that  it  is  better  to  restrain  than  to  indulge  his  appetites, 
and  to  consult  the  public  interest  than  his  own.  The 
engine  they  employed  in  working  upon  him  was  flattery, 
which  they  addressed  to  vanity,  one  of  the  strongest  prin- 
ciples of  our  nature.  They  contrasted  man  with  the  lower 
animals,  and  magnified  the  advantages  he  possesses  over 
them.  The  human  race  they  divided  into  two  classes  ; 
the  mean  and  contemptible,  who,  after  the  example  of  the 
brutes,  gratify  every  animal  propensity  ;  and  the  generous 
and  high-spirited,  who,  disdaining  these  low  gratifications, 
bent  their  study  to  cultivate  the  nobler  principles  of  our 
nature,  and  waged  a  continual  war  with  themselves  to  pro- 
mote the  happiness  of  others.  In  the  case  of  men  pos- 
sessed of  an  extraordinary  degree  of  pride  and  resolution, 
these  representations  of  politicians  and  moralists  were  able 
to  effectuate  a  complete  conquest  of  their  natural  appetites, 
and  a  complete  contempt  of  their  own  visible  interests  ; 
and  even  the  feeble-minded  and  abject  would  be  unwilling 
to  rank  themselves  in  the  class  to  which  they  really  be- 
longed, and  would  strive  to  conceal  their  imperfections 
from  the  world,  by  their  forwardness  to  swell  the  cry  in 
praise  of  self-denial  and  of  public  spirit.  Such,"  says 
Mandeville,  "  was,  or  at  least  might  have  been,  the  man- 


MANDEVILLE.  153 

ner  after  which  savage  man  was  broke  ;  and  what  we  call 
the  moral  virtues  are  merely  the  political  offspring  which 
flattery  begot  upon  pride." 

I  shall  not  insist  on  the  absurdity  of  supposing  that  gov- 
ernment is  an  invention  of  political  wisdom,  and  not  the 
natural  result  of  man's  constitution,  and  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  is  placed.  This,  however  improb- 
able, is  one  of  the  least  absurdities  of  Mandeville's  system. 
Its  capital  defect  consists  in  supposing  that  the  origin  of 
our  moral  virtues  may  be  accounted  for  from  the  power  of 
education  ;  a  fundamental  error  which  is  common  to  the 
system  of  Mandeville  and  that  of  Locke  as  commonly 
understood  by  his  followers,  and  which  I  had  formerly 
occasion  to  notice  and  refute.  I  shall  not,  therefore,  en- 
large upon  it  at  present,  but  shall  confine  myself  to  those 
parts  of  Mandeville's  philosophy  which  are  peculiar  to 
himself. 


V.  His  Erroneous  Notions  respecting  Vanity  and  Pride.  ] 
It  appears  from  the  passage  just  quoted,  that  the  engine 
which  Mandeville  supposes  politicians  to  employ  for  the 
purpose  of  creating  the  artificial  distinction  between  virtue 
and  vice  is  vanity  or  pride,  which  two  words  he  uses  as 
synonymous.  He  employs  them,  likewise,  in  a  much  more 
extensive  sense  than  their  common  acceptation  authorizes  ; 
to  denote,  not  only  an  overweening  conceit  of  our  own 
character  and  attainments,  or  a  weak  and  childish  passion 
for  the  admiration  of  others,  but  that  reasonable  desire  for 
the  esteem  of  our  fellow-creatures,  which,  so  far  from 
being  a  weakness,  is  a  laudable  and  respectable  principle. 
The  desire  of  esteem  and  the  dread  of  contempt  are 
undoubtedly  among  the  strongest  principles  of  our  nature  ;" 
but  in  good  minds  they  are  only  subsidiary  to  the  desire 
of  excellence,  nay,  they  cannot  be  effectually  gratified  if 
they  are  the  first  springs  of  our  actions.  To  be  pleased 
with  the  applause  of  others,  it  is  not  sufficient  to  possess 
the  appearance  of  good  qualities  ;  we  must  possess  the 
reality.  A  man  of  sense  and  delicacy  is  never  more  mor- 
tified than  when  he  receives  praise  for  qualities  which  he- 
knows  do  not  belong  to  him  ;  and  he  is  comforted,  under 
the  mistaken  censures  of  the  world,  by  the  consciousness 


154  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

he  does  not  deserve  them.  A  desire  of  applause  may, 
without  detracting  from  our  merit,  mingle  itself  with  the 
more  worthy  motives  of  our  conduct ;  but  if  it  is  the  sole 
motive,  the  attainment  of  the  object  will  never  communi- 
cate a  lasting  satisfaction. 

"  Falsus  honor  juvat,  et  mendax  infamia  terret, 
Quern,  nisi  mendosum  et  mendacem  ?  "  * 

Vanity,  in  propriety  of  speech,  denotes  a  weakness  aris- 
ing from  a  perversion  of  the  desire  of  esteem.  A  man  is 
vain  who  values  himself  on  what  is  unworthy  of  regard,  as 
the  external  distinctions  of  equipage  or  dress.  He,  too, 
is  vain  who  wishes  to  pass  in  the  world  for  what  he  really 
is  not,  and  boasts  of  qualities  which  he  does  not  possess. 
We  also  give  the  name  of  vanity  'to  that  weakness  which 
disposes  a  man  to  be  pleased  with  flattery,  and  which  leads 
him,  not  only  to  desire  the  esteem  of  others,  but  to  place 
his  happiness  in  public  expressions  of  it.  In  every  case, 
vanity  denotes  a  weakness  which  is  carefully  to  be  distin- 
guished from  the  love  of  true  glory. 

Mandeville  uses  the  word  to  express  every  sentiment  of 
regard  that  we  feel  for  the  good  opinion  of  others  ;  and, 
wherever  this  regard  can  be  supposed  to  have  had  any 
influence  on  our  conduct,  he  concludes  that  vanity  was  our 
principle  of  action. 

From  these  observations,  added  to  those  formerly  made 
on  Locke,  it  follows,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  whole  of 
our  moral  sentiments  cannot  be  accounted  for  from  educa- 
tion. Secondly,  that,  by  confounding  together  vanity,  and 
a  reasonable  regard  to  the  esteem  of  our  fellow-creatures, 
Mandeville  has  expressed  the  fundamental  proposition  of 
his  system  in  terms  so  vague  and  ambiguous  as  renders  it 
impossible  to  form  a  distinct  conception  of  his  meaning. 
And,  thirdly,  that  even  this  reasonable  and  laudable  desire 
of  esteem  cannot  be  effectually  gratified,  if  it  be  the  sole 
principle  of  our  conduct ;  and  therefore  cannot  be  the 
only  source  of  our  moral  virtues. 

From  the  principle  of  vanity,  Mandeville  endeavours 

*  Hor.,  Ep.  XVI.  39. 

"  False  praise  can  charm,  unreal  shame  control, 
Whom,  but  a  vicious  or  a  sickly  soul  ? " 


MANDEVILLE.  155 

to  account  for  all  the  instances  of  self-denial  that  have 
occurred  in  the  world.  But  he  is  not  satisfied  with  ex- 
plaining away  in  this  manner  the  reality  of  moral  distinc- 
tions. He  endeavours  to  show  that  human  life  is  nothing 
but  a  scene  of  hypocrisy,  and  that  there  is  really  little  or 
none  of  that  sell-denial  to  be  found  that  some  men  lay 
claim  to.  In  his  theory  of  moral  virtue  he  seems  to  allow 
that  education  may  not  only  teach  a  man  to  check  his 
appetites  in  order  to  procure  the  esteem  of  others,  but 
that  it  may  teach  him  to  consider  such  a  conquest  over 
the  lower  principles  of  his  nature  as  noble  in  itself,  and  as 
elevating  him  still  farther  than  nature  had  done  above  the 
level  of  the  brutes.  "  Those  men,"  says  he,  "  who  have  » 
labored  to  establish  societies  endeavoured,  in  the  first 
place,  to  insinuate  themselves  into  the  hearts  of  men  by 
flattery,  extolling  the  excellences  of  our  nature  above 
other  animals.  They  next  began  to  instruct  them  in  the 
notions  of  honor  and  shame,  representing  the  one  as  the 
worst  of  all  evils,  and  the  other  as  the  highest  good  to 
which  mortals  could  aspire ;  —  which  being  done,  they 
laid  before  them  how  unbecoming  it  was  the  dignity  of 
such  sublime  creatures  to  be  solicitous  about  gratifying 
those  appetites  which  they  had  in  common  with  the  brutes, 
and  at  the  same  time  unmindful  of  those  higher  qualities 
that  gave  them  the  preeminence  over  all  visible  beings. 
They,  indeed,  confessed  that  these  impulses  of  nature 
were  very  pressing  ;  that  it  was  troublesome  to  resist,  and 
very  difficult  wholly  to  subdue  them.  But  this  they  only 
used  as  an  argument  to  demonstrate  how  glorious  the  con- 
quest of  them  was  on  the  one  hand,  and  how  scandalous 
on  the  other  not  to  attempt  it." 

These  arguments,  it  is  evident,  are  addressed  to  pride 
rather  than  to  vanity ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that, 
though  Mandeville  never  states  the  distinction  between 
these  two  words,  but,  on  the  contrary,  affects  to  consider 
them  as  synonymous,  he  plainly  was  aware  of  the  import  of 
both,  and  sometimes  uses  the  one,  and  sometimes  the  other, 
as  best  suits  his  purpose.  Thus,  in  the  following  pas- 
sage, if  the  word  vanity  were  substituted  instead  of  pride, 
the  impropriety  could  not  escape  the  most  careless  reader. 
"  Such  men  as,  from  no  other  motive  but  their  love  of 


156  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

goodness,  perform  a  worthy  action  in  silence,  have,  I  con- 
fess, acquired  more  refined  notions  of  virtue  than  those  I 
have  hitherto  spoke  of,  yet  even  in  these  (with  whom  the 
world  has  never  yet  swarmed)  we  may  discover  no  small 
symptoms  of  pride  ;  and  the  humblest  man  alive  must 
confess  that  the  reward  of  a  virtuous  action,  which  is  the 
satisfaction  that  ensues  upon  it,  consists  in  a  certain  pleas- 
ure he  procures  to  himself,  by  contemplating  on  his  own 
worth  ;  which  pleasure,  together  with  the  occasion  of  it, 
are  as  certain  signs  of  pride  as  looking  pale  and  trembling 
at  any  imminent  danger  are  the  symptoms  of  fear." 

From  these  passages,  however,  it  is  abundantly  clear, 
»that,  in  his  theory  of  virtue,  Mandeville  admits  the  possi- 
bility of  self-denial  being  exercised  merely  for  the  private 
gratification  of  the  pride  of  the  individual,   without  any 
regard  to  the  opinions  of  other  men.     But  in  his  com- 
mentary on  the  Fable  of  the  Bees,  he  goes  much  farther, 
and  attempts  to  show  that  there  is  really  no  self-denial  in 
the  world,  and  that  what  we  call  a  conquest  is  only  a 
concealed  indulgence  of  our  passions.     To  establish  this 
point,  he  avails  himself  of  the  ambiguity  of  language.     The 
passion  of  sex  he,  in  every  case,  calls  lust  ;  every  thing 
which  exceeds  what  is  necessary  for  the  support  of  life 
he  calls  luxury  ;  and  thus  confounding  the  innocent  and 
reasonable  gratifications  of  our  passions  with  their  vicious 
excesses,  he  pretends  to  show  that  there  is  really  no  vir- 
tue among  men.     "  There  are  some  of  our  passions," 
says   Mr.   Smith,  "which  have   no  other  names  except 
those  which  mark  the  drsagreeable  and  offensive  degree. 
The  spectator  is  more  apt  to  take  notice  of  them  in  this 
degree  than  in  any  other.     When  they  shock  his  own  sen- 
timents, when  they  give  him  some  sort  of  antipathy  and  un- 
easiness, he  is  necessarily  obliged  to  attend  to  them,  and 
is  from  thence  naturally  led  to  give  them  a  name.      When 
they  fall  in  with  the  natural  state  of  his  own  mind,  he  is 
very  apt  to  overlook  them  altogether,    and  either   gives 
them  no  name  at  all,  or,  if  he  gives  them  any,  it  is  one 
which  marks  rather  the  subjection  and  restraint  of  the  pas- 
sion than  the  degree  which  it  is  still  allowed  to  subsist  in 
after  it  is  so  subjected  and  restrained.      Thus,  the  com- 
mon names  of  the  love  of  pleasure  and  of  the  love  of  sex 


M\.NDEVILLE.  15T 

denote  a  vicious  and  offensive  degree  of  those  passions. 
The  words  temperance  and  chastity,  on  the  other  hand, 
seem  to  mark  rattier  the  restraint  and  subjection  in  which 
they  are  kept  under,  than  the  degree  which  they  are  still 
allowed  to  subsist  in.  When  he  can  show,  therefore,  that 
they  still  subsist  in  some  degree,  he  imagines  he  has  en- 
tireiv  demolished  the  reality  of  the  virtues  of  temperance 
and  chastity,  and  shown  them  to  be  mere  impositions  up- 
on the  inattention  and  simplicity  of  mankind.  Those 
virtues,  however,  do  not  require  an  entire  insensibility  to 
the  objects  of  the  passions  which  they  mean  to  govern. 
They  onlv  aim  at  restraining  the  violence  of  those  passions 
so  iar  as  not  to  hurt  the  individual,  and  neither  to  disturb 
not1  offend  society. 

"It  is  the  great  fallacy  of  Dr.  Mandeville's  book  to 
represent  every  passion  as  u holly  vicious,  which  is  so  in 
any  degree,  and  in  any  direction.  It  is  thus  that  he  treats 
every  thing  as  vanity  which  has  any  reference  either  to 
what  are,  or  what  ought  to  be,  the  sentiments  of  others  ; 
and  it  is  by  means  of  this  sophistry  that  he  establishes  his 
favorite  conclusion,  that  private  vices  are  public  benefits. 
If  the  love  of  magnificence,  a  taste  for  the  elegant  arts  and 
improvements  of  human  life,  for  whatever  is  agreeable  in 
dress,  furniture,  or  equipage,  for  architecture,  statuary, 
painting,  and  music,  is  to  be  regarded  as  luxury,  sensu- 
ality, and  ostentation,  even  in  those  whose  situation  allows, 
without  any  inconveniency,  the  indulgence  of  those  pas- 
sions, it  is  certain  that  luxury,  sensuality,  and  ostentation 
are  public  benefits,  since,  without  the  qualities  upon  which 
he  thinks  proper  to  bestow  such  opprobrious  names,  the 
arts  of  refinement  could  never  find  employment,  and  must 
languish  for  want  of  encouragement.  Some  popular  ascetic 
doctrines  which  had  been  current  before  his  time,  and 
which  placed  virtue  in  the  entire  extirpation  and  annihilation 
of  all  our  passions,  were  the  real  foundation  of  this  licen- 
tious system.  It  was  easy  for  Dr.  Mandeville  to  prove, 
first,  that  this  entire  conquest  never  actually  took  place 
among  men  ;  and,  secondly,  that,  if  it  was  to  take  place 
universally,  it  would  be  pernicious  to  society,  by  putting 
an  end  to  all  commerce  and  industry,  and,  in  a  manner,  to 
the  whole  business  of  human  life.  By  the  first  of  these 
14 


158  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

propositions  he  seemed  to  prove  that  there  was  no  real 
virtue,  and  that  what  pretended  to  be  such  was  a  mere 
cheat  and  imposition  upon  mankind  ;  and  by  the  second, 
that  private  vices  were  public  benefits,  since  without  them 
no  society  could  prosper  or  flourish."  * 

VI.  On  the  General  Impression  and  Practical  Tendency 
of  such  Speculations.]  I  shall  not  enter  into  a  more  par- 
ticular examination  of  Mandeville's  doctrines.  I  cannot, 
however,  leave  the  subject  without  observing,  that  the  im- 
pression which  the  author's  writings  produce  on  the  mind 
affords  a  sufficient  refutation  of  his  principles.  It  was 
considered  by  Cicero  as  a  strong  presumption  against  the 
system  of  Epicurus,  that  "  it  breathed  nothing  generous  or 
noble,"  nihil  magnificum,  nihil  generosum  sapit  ;  and  the 
same  presumption  will  be  found  to  apply,  with  tenfold 
force,  to  that  theory  which  has  been  now  under  our  dis- 
cussion. If  there  be  no  real  distinction  between  virtue  and 
vice, —  if  the  account  given  by  Mandeville  of  the  constitu- 
tion of  our  nature  be  a  just  one,  —  why  do  his  reasonings 
render  us  dissatisfied  with  our  own  characters,  or  inspire 
us  with  a  detestation  and  contempt  for  mankind  ?  Why 
do  we  turn  with  pleasure  from  the  dark  and  uncomfortable 
prospects  which  he  presents  to  us,  to  the  delightful  and 
elevating  views  of  human  nature  which  are  exhibited  in 
those  philosophical  systems  which  he  attempts  to  explode  ? 
It  will  be  said,  perhaps,  that  all  this  arises  from  pride  or 
vanity.  When  we  read  Mandeville,  we  are  ashamed  of 
the  species  to  which  we  belong  ;  while,  on  the  contrary, 
our  pride  is  gratified  by  those  sublime  but  fallacious  de- 
scriptions of  disinterested  virtue,  with  which  the  weakness 
or  hypocrisy  of  some  popular  writers  has  flattered  the 
moral  enthusiasm  of  the  multitude.  But  if  Mandeville's 
account  of  our  nature  be  just,  whence  is  it  that  we  come 
to  have  an  idea  of  one  class  of  qualities  as  more  excellent 
and  meritorious  than  another  ?  W"hy  do  we  consider  pride 
or  vanity  as  a  less  worthy  motive  for  our  conduct  than 
disinterested  patriotism  or  friendship,  or  a  determined  ad- 
herence to  what  we  believe  to  be  our  duty  ?  Why  does 

*  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  VII.  Sect.  II.  Chap.  iv. 


MANDEVILLE.  159 

human  nature  appear  to  us  less  amiable  in  his  writings 
than  in  the  writings  of  Addison  ?  or  whence  the  origin  of 
those  opposite  sentiments  which  the  very  names  of  Addi- 
son and  of  Mandeville  inspire  ?  We  shall  atlmit  the  fact 
with  respect  to  the  actual  depravity  of  man  to  be  as  he 
states  it ;  but  does  not  the  impression  his  system  leaves 
on  the  mind  demonstrate  that  we  are  at  least  formed  with 
the  love  and  admiration  of  moral  excellence,  and  that 
virtue  was  intended  to  be  the  law  of  our  conduct  ?  The 
question  concerning  the  actual  attainments  of  man  must 
not  be  confounded  with  the  question  concerning  the  reality 
of  moral  distinctions.  If  Mandeville  is  successful  in  estab- 
lishing his  doctrine  on  the  first  of  these  points,  the  dis- 
satisfaction his  conclusions  leave  on  the  mind  is  sufficient 
to  overturn  his  doctrine  with  respect  to  the  latter.  The 
remark  of  La  Rochefoucauld,  that  tl  hypocrisy  itself  is  a 
homage  which  vice  renders  to  virtue,"  involves  a  satisfac- 
tory reply  to  all  the  arguments  that  have  ever  been  drawn 
from  the  prevailing  corruption  of  mankind  against  the 
moral  constitution  of  human  nature. 

It  is  the  capital  defect  of  this  system  to  confound  to- 
gether the  two  questions  I  have  just  stated,  and  to  substi- 
tute a  satire  on  vice  and  folly  instead  of  a  philosophical 
account  of  those  moral  principles  which  form  an  essential 
part  of  our  frame.  That  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth 
mixed  with  the  sophistry  it  contains,  I  am  ready  to  ac- 
knowledge ;  and  if  the  author's  remarks  had  been  thrown 
into  the  form  of  satires,  many  of  them  might  have  been 
useful  to  the  world,  by  the  light  they  throw  on  human 
character,  and  by  the  assistance  which  individuals  may  de- 
rive from  them  in  examining  their  own  motives  of  action. 
Some  apolosy  might  have  been  made,  in  this  case,  for  the 
colorings  which  the  author's  facts  have  borrowed  from  his 
imagination.  The  object  of  the  satirist  is  to  reform  ;  and 
for  this  purpose  it  may  sometimes  be  of  use  to  exaggerate 
the  prevailing  vices  and  follies  of  the  time,  in  order  to 
contrast  more  strongly  what  mankind  are  with  what  they 
might  and  ought  to  be.  But  the  satirist  who  wishes  well 
to  his  species,  while  he  indulges  his  indignation  against 
prevailing  corruptions,  will  recollect,  that,  if  his  censures 
are  just,  they  presuppose  the  reality  of  moral  distinctions  ; 


160  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

and  while  he  laments  the  depravity  of  the  race,  and  chas- 
tises the  follies  and  vices  of  individuals,  he  will  reverence 
morality  as  the  Divine  law,  and  those  essential  principles  of 
the  human  frame  which  bear  the  manifest  signature  of  the 
Divine  workmanship.  To  attempt  to  depreciate  these  can 
never  answer  a  good  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  a 
tendency  to  fill  the  minds  of  good  men  with  a  desponding 
skepticism,  and  to  stifle  every  generous  and  active  exer- 
tion ;  and  if  it  does  not  actually  increase  the  depravity  of 
the  world,  it  tends  at  least  to  strengthen  the  effrontery  of 
vice,  and  to  expose  the  wiser  and  better  part  of  mankind 
to  the  impertinent  raillery  of  fools  and  profligates.* 

APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  II. 

BENTHAM  AND   HIS  FOLLOWERS. 

I.  Bentham's  Ethical  Writings  and  Doctrines. .]  Jeremy 
Bentham  was  born  in  London,  in  the  year  1748,  and  at  a 
very -early  age  became  a  graduate  of  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford. Whilst  there,  he  directed  his  attention  to  the  study 
of  law  and  the  cognate  branch  of  ethics,  and.  during  the 
last  year  of  his  stay  in  that  city  became  an  ardent  admirer 
and  investigator  of  the  principle  of  utility,  chiefly  from 
reading  Dr.  Priestley's  Essay  upon  Government.  In  1776 
he  published  a  Fragment  on  Government,  and  in  1789  ap- 
peared his  grand  work,  entitled  Introduction  to  the  Princi- 
ples of  JVIorals  and  Legislation.  The  moral  system  which 
Bentham  advocated  in  this  latter  work,  and  which  he  ex- 
panded more  and  more  during  a  long  and  laborious  life,  at 
length  came  forth,  in  the  year  1834,  in  its  most  complete, 
and  at  the  same  time  most  popular  form,  as  a  posthumous 
production,  edited  by  Dr.  Bowring,  under  the  title  of 
Deontology  ;  or  the  Science  of  Morality. 

*  As  the  direct  influence  of  the  writings  of  La  Rochefoucauld  and 
Mandeville  has  passed  away  for  the  most  part,  I  have  taken  the  liberty 
slightly  to  abridge  what  was  said  of  them  in  the  text,  in  order  to  make 
•  room  for  some  account  of  a  more  distinguished  moralist  of  the  selfish 
school,  Jeremy  Bentham.  What  relates  to  Bentham  himself  is  taken 
from  Morell's  View  of  Speculative  Philosophy  in  the,  Nineteenth  Century, 
Chap.  IV.;  what  relates  to  his  followers  is  taken  from  Mackintosh's 
Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  Sect.  VI. —  ED. 


BENTHAM.  161 

Tlie  principles  advocated  under  the  name  of  deontology 
may  be  easily  explained.  The  whole  system  takes  its 
rise  from  the  consideration  that  man  is  capable  of  pleas- 
ures and  pains,  and  that,  from  the  calculation  of  these,  all 
moral  action  proceeds.  On  this  theory,  good  is  a  word 
synonymous  with  pleasure,  evil  synonymous  with  pain, 
and  all  happiness  consists  in  the  possession  of  the  one, 
and  the  absence  of  the  other.  Give  me,  says  the  utilita- 
rian teacher,  give  me  the  human  sensibilities, — joy  and 
grief,  pain  and  pleasure,  and  I  will  create  a  moral  world. 
Pleasure  and  pain,  then,  the  basis  of  our  moral  nature, 
are  to  be  estimated  according  to  their  magnitude  and  ex- 
tent ;  magnitude,  referring  to  their  intensity  and  duration  ; 
extent,  depending  on  the  number  of  persons  who  are  af- 
fected by  them.  It  is  in  the  proper  balancing  of  these, 
asserts  Bentham,  that  all  morality  consists,  and  beyond 
this  the  words  virtue  and  vice  are  emptiness  and  folly. 

Pleasure  or  pain,  however,  may  arise  from  two  sources  ; 
it  may  arise  from  considerations  affecting  ourselves,  or  it 
may  arise  from  the  contemplation  of  others,  the  former 
being  purely  of  a  selfish  nature,  the  latter  being  sympa- 
thetic. Hence  originates  a  twofold  division  of  virtue 
into  prudence  and  effective  benevolence,  —  both  of  them, 
however,  alike  having  their  ground  in  the  pleasure  we 
personally  derive  from  their  exercise.  Prudence,  again, 
is  of  two  kinds,  that  which  respects  ourselves,  which  our 
author  terms  self-regarding  prudence  ;  and  that  which 
respects  others,  which  he  terms  extra-regarding  prudence. 
Effective  benevolence,  also,  is  twofold,  positive  and  nega- 
tive ;  the  business  of  the  former  being  to  augment  pleasure 
by  voluntary  exertion,  that  of  the  latter  being  to  do  the 
same  by  abstaining  from  action.  Virtue,  says  Bentham, 
when  separated  from  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  is  absolute- 
ly nothing  ;  and,  accordingly,  it  is  termed  by  him  a  ficti- 
tious entity.  Inasmuch,  also,  as  no  one  is  supposed  to 
have  any  motive  for  action  different  from  the  pursuit  of 
pleasure  or  the  avoidance  of  pain,  we  have  the  deonto- 
logical  doctrine  educed,  that  every  motive  is  abstractly 
good,  and  that  evil  has  to  do  with  nothing  but  our  actions 
or  dispositions.  In  a  word,  we  are  to  imagine,  that  man 
has  originally  no  moral  sentiment  whatever,  that  he  has  no 
14* 


162  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

idea  of  one  thing  being  right  and  another  wrong,  that  all 
actions  are  to  him  in  this  respect  absolutely  alike,  and  that 
the  conception  of  virtue,  as  well  as  the  rules  of  morality, 
are  all  the  product  of  experience,  teaching  us  what  actions 
produce  happiness,  and  what  suffering.  Such  is  the  moral 
system,  which  is  aptly  enough  termed  the  greatest-happi- 
ness principle,  and  such  the  virtue  which  is  correctly  ex- 
pressed as  the  art  of  maximizing  our  enjoyment. 

The  style  of  the  work  from  which  I  have  made  the 
above  analysis  is  popular,  witty,  and  somewhat  amusing, 
but  becomes  at  length  tedious  from  repetition  and  tau- 
tology. It  abounds  in  biting  sarcasm  against  what  is 

CV  ^l~J  O 

termed  the  dogmatism  and  "  ipse-dixitism  "  of  most  other 
moralists  ;  but,  what  is  remarkable,  is  itself  at  the  same 
time  one  of  the  most  striking  instances  of  reiterated  asser- 
tion that  is  to  be  found  among  all  the  ethical  writings  of 
the  present  century.* 

*  A  few  selections  will  best  illustrate  Bentham's  light  and  irreverent 
tone.  Thus  in  Part  I.  Chap.  II. :  —  "  The  talisman  of  arrogance,  indo- 
lence, and  ignorance  is  to  be  found  in  a  single  word,  an  authoritative 
imposture,  which  in  these  pages  it  will  be  frequently  necessary  to  un- 
veil. It  is  the  word  ought,  — ought  or  ought  not,  as  circumstances  may 
be.  In  deciding  '  You  ought  to  do  this, —  You  ought  nofto  do  it,'  is  not 
every  question  of  morals  set  at  rest?  If  the  word  be  admissible  at  all, 
it '  ought '  to  be  banished  from  the  vocabulary  of  morals.  There  is 
another  word  which  has  a  talismanic  virtue,  too,  and  which  might  be 
wielded  to  destroy  many  fatal  and  fallacious  positions.  '  Yon  ought,'  — 
'You  ought  not,'  says  the  dogmatist.  '  Why  ?  '  retorts  the  inquirer, — 
'  Why?'  To  say  'You  ought'  is  easy  in  the  extreme.  To  stand  the 
searching  penetration  of  a  Why  ?  is  not  so  easy.  '  Why  ought  1  ? ' 
'  Because  you  ought,'  is  the  not  unfrequent  reply  ;  on  which  the  Why  ? 
comes  back  again  with  the  added  advantage  of  having  obtained  a  vic- 
tory." A  morality  from  the  vocabulary  of  which  the  word  "ought"  is 
to  be  banished  !  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  observe  that  the  whole  force 
of  Bentham's  "  Why  ?  "  depends  on  his  determination  to  accept  no 
answer  which  is  not  satisfactory  according  to  his  theory  of  utilitarianism, 
—  of  course  palpably  illogical,  as  it  begs  the  whole  question. 

Again  in  Chapter  III.: — "The  summum  bonum, —  the  sovereign 
good,  —  what  is  it?  The  philosophers'  stone  that  converts  all  metals 
into  gold,  —  the  balm  Hygeian  that  cures  all  manner  of  diseases.  It  is 
this  thing,  and  that  thing,  and  the  other  thing;  it  is  any  thing  but 
pleasure  ;  it  is  the  Irishman's  apple-pie  made  of  nothing  but  quinces." 
He  then  amuses  himself  by  going  a  little  more  into  detail  with  the 
various  answers  which  philosophers  and  divines  have  made  to  the 
question  proposed  above.  A  single  specimen  will  suffice.  "  But  we 
are  still  at  sea,  and  another  set  cry  out, '  The  habit  of  virtue  ' ;  the  habit 
of  virtue  is  the  summum  bonum:  either  this  is  the  jewel  itself,  or  the 
casket  in  which  it  is  found.  Lie  all  your  life  long  in  your  bed  with  the 


BENTHAM.  163 

II.  Objections  to  Bentham^s  System.]  In  offering  some 
remarks  upon  Bentham's  philosophy,  we  must  state  dis- 
tinctly, that  we  leave  entirely  out  of  the  question  his  val- 
uable labors  in  the  department  of  jurisprudence,  and  refer 
simply  to  the  principles  of  his  moral  theory.  And  here 
we  would  caution  every  ethical  student  against  imagining, 
that  he  will  find  all  the  originality  which  is  claimed  for 
the  deontologist  by  himself  and  his  more  ardent  admirers. 
To  speak  of  Bentham's  "  having  found  out  the  true  psy- 
chological law  of  our  nature,  as  Newton  discovered  that 
of  the  material  universe,"  is  not  only  metaphysically  false, 
but,  even  allowing  its  philosophical  accuracy,  is  histori- 

rheumatism  in  your  loins,  the  stone  in  your  bladder,  and  the  gout  in  your 
feet :  have  but  the  habit  of  virtue,  and  you  have  the  summum  bonum. 
Much  good  may  it  do  you." 

Once  more,  in  Chapter  IV.:  —  "The  moral  sense,  say  some,  prompts 
to  generosity;  but  does  it  determine  what  is  generous  ?  It  prompts  "to 
justice  ;  but  does  it  determine  what  is  just  ?  It  can  decide  no  contro- 
versy ;  it  can  reconcile  no  difference.  Introduce  a  modern  partisan  of 
the  moral  sense,  and  an  ancient  Greek,  and  ask  each  of  them  whether 
actions  deemed  blameless  in  ancient  days,  but  respecting  which  opinions 
have  now  undergone  great  change,  ought  to  be  tolerated  in  a  commu- 
nity, '  By  no  means,'  says  the  modern  ;  '  as  my  moral  sense  abhors 
them,  therefore  they  ought  not.'  'But  mine,'  says  the  ancient, 'ap- 
proves of  them;  therefore  they  ought.'  And  there,  if  the  modern 
keep  his  principles  and  his  temper,  the  matter  must  end  between  them. 
Upon  the  ground  of  moral  sense  there  is  no  going  one  jot  further;  and 
the  result  is,  that  the  actions  in  question  are  at  once  laudable  and  de- 
testable. The  modern,  then,  as  probably  he  will  keep  neither  his  prin- 
ciples nor  his  temper,  says  to  the  ancient,  'Your  moral  sense  is  nothing 
to  the  purpose  ;  yours  is  corrupt,  abominable,  detestable;  all  nations  cry 
out  against  you.  'No  such  thing,'  replies  the  ancient;  'and  if  they 
did,  it  would  be  nothing  to  the  purpose;  our  business  was  to  inquire, 
not  what  people  think,  but  what  they  outrht  to  think.'  Thereupon  the 
modern  kicks  the  ancient,  or  spits  in  his  face ;  or,  if  he  is  strong  enough, 
throws  him  behind  the  fire.  One  can  think  of  no  other  method,  that  is 
at  once  natural  and  consistent,  of  continuing  the  debate." 

It  was  Mr.  Bentham's  pleasure  to  persist  in  supposing  that  all  his 
opponents,  a  few  ascetics  excepted,  could  be  classed  under  the  head  of 
believers  in  a  moral  sense.  A  large  proportion  of  them,  as  we  shall 
soon  see,  hold  that  the  moral  faculty  pertains  to  the  rational,  and  not  to 
the  sensitive,  element  in  human  nature.  That  the  moral  faculty  should 
make  mistakes,  and  afterwards  correct  them,  does  not  disprove  its  exist- 
ence as  a  natural  endowment  of  man,  or  its  legitimate  authority.  If  it 
did,  we  might  disprove  the  existence  and  authority  of  the  knowing  or 
cognitive  faculty  in  the  same  way  ;  for  that  also  makes  mistakes,  and 
afterwards  corrects  them.  Because  we  say  that 'children  and  savages 
have  a  conscience,  we  do  not  mean  that  they  have  one  in  the  same 
stage  of  development,  and  consequentlv  we  do  not  mean  that  its  decis- 
ions are  as  clear,  or  as  correct,  as  in  the  case  of  the  properly  educated. 
—  ED. 


THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

cally  untrue.  To  say  nothing  of  the  Epicureans  of  an- 
cient times,  and  more  recently  of  Hobbes,  we  might  point 
out  many  writers  who  have  given  far  more  than  passing 
allusions  to  the  very  same  doctrine  as  that  for  which  Bent- 
ham  is  so  highly  extolled,  although  they  may  not  have 
expanded  it  so  fully,  or  applied  it  so  extensively,  as  was 
done  in  the  case  before  us.*  The  professed  supporters 
of  utility,  again,  such  as  Hume  and  Paley,  proceeded  vir- 
tually upon  the  very  same  principle  ;  and  even  if  we  pass 
over  these,  yet  still  we  might  refer  to  Gay's  Preface  to 
Archbishop  King  On  the  Origin  of  Evil,  to  the  writings 
of  Priestley,  to  the  Political  Justice  of  Godwin,  and  to 
many  of  the  French  moralists,  for  illustrations  of  the  very 
same  theory,  which  Bentham  only  somewhat  more  perse- 
veringly  elaborated.  The  greatest-happiness  principle  is, 
in  fact,  utilitarianism  in  one  of  its  many  different  phases  ; 
and  accordingly  the  objections  which  we  have  already 
urged  against  that  doctrine  apply  with  equal  force  to  the 
one  now  before  us.  As  the  question,  however,  is  of  some 
importance,  we  shall  specify  a  few  other  objections,  which 
apply  more  directly  to  the  utilitarian  system,  as  held  by 
the  advocates  of  deontology  ;  and, 

1 .  There  is  in  these  writers  a  perpetual  habit  of  con- 
founding the  cause  of  virtuous  action  with  the  effect.  We 
have  it  reiterated  again  and  again,  as  an  unanswerable 
argument,  that  there  must  be  a  selfish  pleasure  experienced 
whenever  we  act  on  virtuous  principles  :  for,  if  our  action 
terminates  in  ourselves,  it  must  .arise  from  the  prospect  of 
our  own  happiness  and  advantage  ;  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  act  for  the  welfare  of  others,  still,  we  are  told,  it  is 
only  for  the  satisfaction  of  our  own  impulses  that  we  seek 
to  benefit  them.  Now,  that  there  is  pleasure  attached  to 
moral  action,  whether  it  be  self-seeking  or  .extra-seeking, 
we  readily  admit  ;  but  this  is  far  from  giving  us  a  proof  that 
such  action  springs  from  any  anticipation  of  the  pleasure 
tee  hope  to  obtain.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  a  strong  man  to 

*  The  only  difference  between  Epicurus  or  Hobbes  on  the  one  side, 
and  Bentham  on  the  other,  is,  that  the  former  drew  their  principles  at 
once  from  human  nature  metaphysical ly  considered,  —  while  the  latter 
gave  no  theory  of  man  generally,  but  laid  down  his  moral  axioms  as 
ultimate  facts. 


BENTHAM.  165 

exercise  his  limbs  ;  but  this  is  no  evidence  that  he  cannot 
have  any  other  motive  than  this  for  exercising  them.  To 
a  man  devoted  to  business  it  is  a  pleasure  to  be  perpetually 
absorbed  in  it ;  but  still  his  activity  may  have  many  other 
grounds  of  excitement  besides  that  one.  Prove  as  you 
may,  that  pleasure  actually  accompanies,  and  even  that  we 
expect  it  to  accompany,  the  practice  of  every  virtue,  the 
point  is  still  far  from  being  settled  that  there  is  no  other 
spring  of  virtuous  action  in  existence.  The  Deity,  as- 
suredly, may  have  given  us  a  moral  law,  may  have  en- 
graved it  on  our  own  minds,  and  placed  it  far  beyond  all 
the  chances  of  human  calculation  ;  and  yet  may  have 
attached  pleasure  to  the  obedience  of  it  as  a  mark  of  his 
approval,  and  as  a  reward  for  our  fidelity.  The  mere 
fact,  therefore,  that  we  always  look  for  happiness  to  ac- 
company virtuous  action,  does  not  at  all  prove  that  happi- 
ness is  the  ground  of  its  moral  excellence.  This  is  con- 
firmed when  we  consider, 

2.  That,  upon  investigating  the  moral  phenomena  of  our 
minds,  we  find  a  class  of  affections   which  rise  in  their 
real  worth  just  in  proportion  to  their  disinterestedness.      If 
personal  pleasure  were  the  ground  of  virtue,  then  every 
affection  ought  to  be  esteemed  higher  in  the  scale  of  mor- 
ality in  proportion  as  it  tends  more  directly  to  self  as  its 
object.     Just  the  contrary  is  the  case.      The  more  our 
own  individual   interests  are  sacrificed    in  the   pursuit  of 
another's  welfare,  the  higher  rises  the  scale  of  virtue  from 
which  such  conduct  proceeds.     If  it  be  said  that  we  sacri- 
fice our  own   interests,  because  the  pleasure  of  satisfying 
our   benevolent  feelings  more    than   counterbalances   the 
loss  we  sustain,  we  reply,  that  this  only  exhibits  the  vast 
strength  of  our  purely  disinterested  affections,  and  affords 
no  proof  that,  because  they  give  us  pleasure  in  their  exer- 
cise, therefore  they  must  be  selfish  in  their  origin.      Only 
show  in  one  single  instance,  that  the  direct  end  of  an  action 
is  for  the  sake  of  another  to  the  sacrifice  of  ourselves,  and 
the  fact  that  we  have  a  moral  satisfaction  in  its  perform- 
ance does  not  in  the  slightest  degree  shake  its  purely  un- 
selfish character. 

3.  That  there  are  certain  fixed  relations  between  man's 
moral  sensibilities. and    outward  actions  is  a  fact  resting 


166  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

upon  the  evidence  of  our  consciousness  ;  and  it  is  to  these 
eternal  relations  that  we  direct  our  inquiries,  when  we  seek 
to  lay  the  groundwork  of  a  moral  philosophy.  Very  dif- 
ferent, however,  is  our  employment  when  we  are  merely 
engaged  in  calculating  for  our  future  happiness,  with  pleas- 
ures and  pains  as  our  ciphers.  What  is  a  pleasure  to  one 
man  is  often  a  pain  to  another  ;  that  which  offers  to  me 
satisfaction,  presents,  perhaps,  a  prospect  of  naught  but 
misery  to  you  ;  so  that  moral  relations,  on  this  principle, 
must  be  as  uncertain  and  variable  as  are  the  temperaments 
or  idiosyncrasies  of  individual  minds.  There  needs  to  be, 
on  the  deontological  system,  a  separate  moral  scale  for 
every  man  ;  nay,  we  ought  all  to  revise  our  own  moral 
principles  every  year  or  two,  to  see  whether  that  which 
was  a  pleasure  to  us  some  time  ago  may  not  now  have  be- 
come an  object  of  dissatisfaction  :  whether,  therefore,  that 
which  was  virtue  has  not  now  become  vice.  Our  reason, 
we  contend,  in  opposition  to  this,  forces  us  to  form  certain 
primary  and  fundamental  moral  judgments,  just  as  much 
as  it  necessitates  the  existence  of  our  primary  beliefs  with 
regard  to  the  external  world,  or  to  the  fact  of  an  exertion 
of  power  in  the  production  of  every  effect,  or  to  the  axioms 
which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all  mathematical  reasoning. 
It  is  just  as  impossible  for  me  practically  to  deny  the  obli- 
gation of  justice,  as  it  is  to  deny  that  the  world  exists,  or 
that  a  whole  is  greater  than  a  part.  The  one  as  well  as  the 
other  rests  upon  the  primary  andjindeniable  facts  of  our 
own  unchangeable  consciousness,  —  facts  which,  though 
they  may  be  disputed  in  theory,  can  never  be  denied  in 
practice.  That  a  philosophical  dreamer  may  run  his  head 
against  the  wall  on  the  score  of  his  idealism,  we  do  not 
dispute  ;  nor  do  we  doubt  but  that,  in  the  case  of  moral 
obliquity,  where  the  consequences  of  the  folly  are  not  so 
immediate,  men  may  be  found  to  reject  the  fundamental 
axioms  of  moral  obligation  ;  but  in  the  healthy  understand- 
ings of  the  mass  of  mankind,  the  one  judgment  is  just  as 
plainly  developed  as  the  other. 

4.  There  is  a  secret  petitio  principii  at  the  very  founda- 
tion of  all  utilitarian  reasoning  like  that  of  Bentham.  Every 
man,  it  is  affirmed,  ought  to  seek  the  greatest  happiness  of 
the  greatest  number,  as  the  fundamental  principle  of  his 


BENTHAM.  167 

actions  in  the  world.  But  why  ought  he  to  do  so  ?  On 
what  ground  can  it  be  shown,  that  1  am  bound  to  seek  the 
welfare  of  myself  or  my  fellow-creatures,  if  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  moral  obligation  ?  If  it  pleases  me  more  to 
inflict  misery  upon  mankind,  why  am  I  not  just  as  vir- 
tuous an  agent  in  doing  so,  as  if  I  please  myself  by  pro- 
ducing their  happiness  ?  The  greatest-happiness  principle 
itself  must,  in  fact,  rest  upon  the  pedestal  of  moral  obliga- 
tion, otherwise  there  is  no  means  of  enforcing  it  as  the 
true  principle  of  action,  either  in  our  social  or  our  political 
relations.  Take  away  that  firm  resting-place  which  is 
afforded  by  the  notion  of  duty,  and  expressed  in  the 
word  ought,  and  we  may  sink  from  one  position  down  to 
another,  without  ever  reaching  a  solid  basis  on  which  we 
may  plant  our  feet,  and  lay  the  first  stone  of  a  moral  super- 
structure. That  this  is  really  the  case  is  half  acknowl- 
edged by  the  followers  of  Bentham,  who  are  now  visibly 
shrinking  from  the  extreme  view  he  has  taken  of  utilita- 
rianism, and  seeking  to  include  the  idea  of  moral  approba- 
tion, in  order  to  give  their  doctrine  some  degree  of  strength 
and  consistency. 

5.  Into  the  political  consequences  of  this  system  we 
shall  not  allow  ourselves  to  enter  at  any  length  :  one  thing, 
however,  there  is,  of  which  we  would  remind  those  who 
hold  up  the  excellence  of  Bentham's  political  writings  as 
a  proof  of  the  soundness  of  his  ethical  system  ;  we  mean 
the  fact  that  Hobbes,  with  a  logic  equally,  if  not  more 
severe,  deduced  from  the  very  same  fundamental  princi- 
ples the  propriety  of  all  government  being  grounded  on 
absolute  despotism,  as  the  form  best  suited  to  the  wants 
of  human  nature.  That  Bentham  was  so  successful  on 
the  subject  of  jurisprudence,  arose,  we  consider,  from  his 
giving  up  the  strict  view  of  the  selfish  system  with  which 
he  started,  and  following  the  dictates  of  common  sense 
and  of  a  benevolence  which  were  more  consonant  with  his 
own  disposition  than  they  were  with  his  moral  theory.* 

Moreover,  there  is  a  fundamental  distinction  between 

*  Or  rather,  from  his  confounding  the  rule  of  general  interest  with 
that  of  personal  interest ;  but  this,  as  Jouffroy  has  shown',  Introduction 
to  Ethics,  Lecture  XIV.,  involves  the  abandonment  of  the  principle  on 
which  his  system  is  founded.  —  ED. 


168  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

the  principles  of  legislation  and  those  of  private  morality, 
which  should  never  be  lost  sight  of.  The  former  principles 
suppose  the  existence  of  the  latter,  and  must  proceed  in 
strict  accordance  with  them,  whether  it  appear  a  matter 
of  policy  to  do  so  or  not.  The  object  of  the  jurist  is, 
simply  to  take  men  with  their  moral  feelings  as  they  are, 
already  fixed  and  determined,  and  so  to  direct  their 
actions  as  to  bring  about  the  greatest  welfare  of  the  com- 
munity. Morality  says,  Fiat  justitia  rual  ccelum  ;  juris- 
prudence points  out  in  what  way  justice  is  to  be  done,  so 
as  to  tend  to  the  happiness  of  the  whole  nation.  The  one 
gives  the  absolute  rule  of  action,  the  other  only  directs  the 
details  for  social  purposes.  Moral  law  is  immediately 
from  God  ;  political  law,  though  springing  from  moral 
principles,  is  an  adaptation  of  man  ;  —  the  one  is  a  code 
written  upon  the  tablet  of  the  human  heart  ;  the  other,  a 
code  written  in  the  statute-book  of  the  empire,  conform- 
able, indeed,  to  moral  law,  but  compiled  for  social  utility. 
To  morality,  as  a  science,  the  utilitarian  ground  is  entirely 
destructive,  altering  its  universal  and  necessary  aspect ;  in 
politics,  utility,  directed  by  moral  precept,  must  be  a  chief 
element  in  every  enactment.  Bentbam,  looking  at  the 
subject  with  the  eye  of  a  jurist,  by  degrees  became  blind 
to  every  thing  but  the  utilitarian  element,  —  an  error  which, 
while  only  partially  dangerous  in  legislation,  is  to  the  mor- 
alist fatal  and  deceptive  from  the  very  first  step. 

That  Bentham  was  a  great  man,  a  courageous  man,  and 
in  many  respects  a  benevolent  man,  we  believe  all  must 
be  ready  to  admit ;  still,  we  cannot  but  think  that  he 
neither  read  enough  to  disabuse  his  mind  of  many  a  cher- 
ished notion,  which  a  wider  range  of  investigation  would 
have  exploded,  nor  ever  cultivated  enough  that  steady, 
reflective  habit  of  mind  which  evolves  truth  from  the  ob- 
servation of  our  inward  consciousness,  and  reduces,  by  a 
close  analysis,  the  admitted  facts  of  human  nature  to  their 
primary  origin.  With  unexampled  patience,  he  developed 
the  influence  of  pleasure  and  pain  upon  human  actions  ; 
but  a  deeper  philosophy  would  have  pointed  out,  that 
these  are  but  the  accompaniments  of  virtue,  while  the  law 
and  the  imperative  to  its  obedience  come  from  a  surer 
and  a  far  more  exalted  source. 


JAMES    MILL.  1G9 

III.  General  Objection  to  the  Followers  of  Bentham.'] 
The  followers  of  Mr.  Bentham  have  carried  to  an  unusual 
extent  the  prevalent  fault  of  the  more  modern  advocates 
of  utility,  who  have  dwelt  so  exclusively  on  the  outward 
advantages  of  virtue  as  to  have  lost  sight  of  the  delight 
which  is  a  part  of  virtuous  feeling,  and  of  the  beneficial 
influence  of  good  actions  upon  the  frame  of  the  mind. 

"  Benevolence  towards  others,"  says  Mr.  Mill,  "  pro- 
duces a  return  of  benevolence  from  them."  *  The  fact 
is  true,  and  ought  to  be  stated.  But  how  unimportant  is 
it  in  comparison  with  that  which  is  passed  over  in  silence, 
the  pleasure  of  the  affection  itself,  which,  if  it  could  be- 
come lasting  and  intense,  would  convert  the  heart  into  a 
heaven  !  No  one  who  has  ever  felt  kindness,  if  he  could 
accurately  recall  his  feelings,  could  hesitate  about  their 
infinite  superiority.  The  cause  of  the  general  neglect  of 
this  consideration  is,  that  it  is  only  when  a  gratification  is 
something  distinct  from  a  state  of  mind,  that  we  can  easily 
learn  to  consider  it  as  a  pleasure.  Hence  the  great  error 
respecting  the  affections,  where  the  inherent  delight  is  not 
duly  estimated,  on  account  of  that  very  peculiarity  of  being 
a  part  of  a  state  of  mind,  which  renders  it  unspeakably 
more  valuable  as  independent  of  every  thing  without.  The 
social  affections  are  the  only  principles  of  human  nature 
which  have  no  direct  pains.  To  have  any  of  these  desires 
is  to  be  in  a  state  of  happiness.  The  malevolent  passions 
have  properly  no  pleasures  ;  for  that  attainment  of  their 
purpose  which  is  improperly  so  called  consists  only  in 
healing  or  assuaging  the  torture  which  envy,  jealousy,  and 
malice  inflict  on  the  malignant  mind.  It  might  with  as 
much  propriety  be  said  that  the  toothache  and  the  stone 
have  pleasures,  because  their  removal  is  followed  by  an 

*  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  Chap,  xxiii. 

The  author  of  this  work,  James  Mill,  was  horn  at  Montrose,  in  Scot- 
land, in  1773,  and  educated  at  Edinburgh,  being  destined  for  the  church. 
He  afterwards  changed  his  views,  established  himself  in  London  in 
1800,  and  soon  became  acquainted  with  Bentham.  He  published  his 
History  of  British.  India  in  1818,  which  procured  for  him  a  place  in 
the  home  establishment  of  the  East  India  Company.  He  was  also  a 
large  contributor  to  the  Supplement  to  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannicn,  (af- 
terwards incorporated  into  the  seventh  edition  of  that  work,)  on  sub- 
jects connected  with  politics  and  morals.  He  died  at  Kensington  in 
1836.  John  Stuart  Mill,  a  living  writer  of  eminence,  is  his  son. —  ED. 
15 


170  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

agreeable  feeling.  These  bodily  disorders,  indeed,  are 
often  cured  by  the  process  which  removes  the  sufferings  ; 
but  the  mental  distempers  of  envy  and  revenge  are  nour- 
ished by  every  act  of  odious  indulgence  which  for  a  mo- 
ment suspends  their  pain. 

The  same  observation  is  applicable  to  every  virtuous 
disposition,  though  not  so  obviously  as  to  the  benevolent 
affections.  That  a  brave  man  is,  on  the  whole,  far  less 
exposed  to  danger  than  a  coward,  is  not  the  chief  advan- 
tage of  a  courageous  temper.  Great  dangers  are  rare  ; 
but  the  constant  absence  of  such  painful  and  mortifying 
sensations  as  those  of  fear,  and  the  steady  consciousness 
of  superiority  to  what  subdues  ordinary  men,  are  a  per- 
petual source  of  inward  enjoyment.  No  man  who  has 
ever  been  visited  by  e  gleam  of  magnanimity  can  place 
any  outward  advantage  of  fortitude  in  comparison  with 
the  feeling  of  being  always  able  fearlessly  to  defend  a 
righteous  cause.*  Even  humility,  in  spite  of  first  ap- 
pearances, is  a  remarkable  example.  It  has  of  late  been 
unwarrantably  used  to  signify  that  painful  consciousness  of 
inferiority  which  is  the  first  stage  of  envy.f  It  is  a  term 
consecrated  in  Christian  ethics  to  denote  that  disposition 
which,  by  inclining  towards  a  modest  estimate  of  our 
qualities,  corrects  the  prevalent  tendency  of  human  nature 
to  overvalue  our  merits  and  to  overrate  our  claims.  What 
can  be  a  less  doubtful  or  a  much  more  considerable  bless- 
ing than  this  constant  sedative,  which  soothes  and  com- 
poses the  irritable  passions  of  vanity  and  pride  ?  What  is 
more  conducive  to  lasting  peace  of  mind  than  the  con- 
sciousness of  proficiency  in  that  most  delicate  species  of 
equity  which,  in  the  secret  tribunal  of  conscience,  labors 
to  be  impartial  in  the  comparison  of  ourselves  with  others  ? 
What  can  so  perfectly  assure  us  of  the  purity  of  our  moral 
sense,  as  the  habit  of  contemplating,  not  that  excellence 

*  According  to  Cicero's  definition  of  fortitude,  "Virtus  pugna.ns  pro 
aquitate."  The  remains  of  the  original  sense  ofmrfttf,  manhood,  give  a 
beauty  and  force  to  these  expressions,  which  cannot  be  preserved  in  our 
language.  The  Greek  dptrrj  and  the  German  Tugend  originally  de- 
noted strength,  afterwards  courage,  and  at  last  virtue.  But  the  happy 
derivation  of  virtus  from  tir  gives  an  energy  to  the  phrase  of  Cicero, 
which  illustrates  the  use  of  etymology  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  writer. 

t  Mr.  Mill's  Analysis  of  the  Human  Mind,  Chap.  XXII.  Sect.  ii. 


JAMES    MILL.  171 

which  we  have  reached,  but  that  which  is  siill  to  be  pur- 
sued,—  of  not  considering  how  far  we  may  outrun  others, 
but  how  far  we  are  from  the  goal  ? 

Those  who  have  most  inculcated  the  doctrine  of  utility 
have  given  another  notable  example  of  the  very  vulgar 
prejudice  which  treats  the  unseen  as  insigni6cant.  Tucker 
is  the  only  one  of  them  who  occasionally  considers  that 
most  important  effect  of  human  conduct  which  consists  in 
its  action  on  the  frame  of  the  rnind,  by  fitting  its  faculties 
and  sensibilities  for  their  appointed  purpose.  A  razor  or 
a  penknife  would  well  enough  cut  cloth  or  meat ;  but  if 
they  were  often  so  used,  they  would  be  entirely  spoiled. 
The  same  sort  of  observation  is  much  more  strongly  appli- 
cable to  habitual  dispositions,  which,  if  they  be  spoiled, 
we  have  no  certain  means  of  replacing  or  mending.  What- 
ever act,  therefore,  discomposes  the  moral  machinery  of 
mind,  is  more  injurious  to  the  welfare  of  the  agent  than 
most  disasters  from  without  can  be  ;  for  the  latter  are 
commonly  limited  and  temporary  ;  the  evil  of  the  former 
spreads  through  the  whole  of  life.  Health  of  mind,  as  well 
as  of  body,  is  not  only  productive  in  itself  of  a  greater  sum 
of  enjoyment  than  arises  from  other  sources,  but  is  the 
only  condition  of  our  frame  in  which  we  are  capable  of 
receiving  pleasure  from  without.  Hence  it  appears  how 
incredibly  absurd  it  is  to  prefer,  on  grounds  of  calculation, 
a  present  interest  to  the  preservation  of  those  mental  habits 
on  which  our  well-being  depends.  When  they  are  most 
moral,  they  may  often  prevent  us  from  obtaining  advan- 
tages. It  would  be  as  absurd  to  desire  to  lower  them  for 
that  reason,  as  it  would  be  to  weaken  the  body  lest  its* 
strength  should  render  it  more  liable  to  contagious  dis- 
orders of  rare  occurrence. 

It  is,  on  the  other  hand,  impossible  to  combine  the  benefit 
of  the  general  habit  with  the  advantages  of  occasional  de- 
viation ;  for  every  such  deviation  either  produces  remorse, 
or  weakens  the  habit,  and  prepares  the  way  for  its  gradual 
destruction.  He  who  obtains  a  fortune  by  the  undetected 
forgery  of  a  will,  may  indeed  be  honest  in  his  other  acts  ; 
but  if  he  had  such  a  scorn  of  fraud  before  as  he  must  him- 
self allow  to  be  generally  useful,  he  must  suffer  a  severe 
punishment  from  contrition  ;  and  he  will  be  haunted  with 


172  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

the  fears  of  one  who  has  lost  his  own  security  for  his  good 
conduct.  In  all  cases,  if  they  be  well  examined,  his  loss 
by  the  distemper  of  his  mental  frame  will  outweigh  the 
profits  of  his  vice. 

By  repeating  the  like  observation  on  similar  occasions, 
it  will  be  manifest  that  the  infirmity  of  recollection,  aggra- 
vated by  the  defects  of  language,  gives  an  appearance  of 
more  selfishness  to  man  than  truly  belongs  to  his  nature  ; 
and  that  the  effect  of  active  agents  upon  the  habitual  state 
of  rnind,  one  of  the  considerations  to  which  the  epithet 
"  sentimental "  has  of  late  been  applied  in  derision,  is 
really  among  the  most  serious  and  reasonable  objects  of 
moral  philosophy.  When  the  internal  pleasures  and  pains 
which  accompany  good  and  bad  feelings,  or  rather  form 
a  part  of  them,  and  the  internal  advantages  and  disadvan- 
tages which  follow  good  and  bad  actions,  are  sufficiently 
considered,  the  comparative  importance  of  outward  conse- 
quences will  be  more  and  more  narrowed  ;  so  that  the 
Stoical  philosopher  may  be  thought  almost  excusable  for 
rejecting  it  altogether,  were  it  not  an  indispensably  neces- 
sary consideration  for  those  in  whom  right  habits  of  feel- 
ing are  not  sufficiently  strong.  They  alone  are  happy,  or 
even  truly  virtuous,  who  have  little  need  of  it. 

The  later  moralists  who  adopt  the  principle  of  utility 
have  so  misplaced  it,  that  in  their  hands  it  has  as  great  a 
tendency  as  any  theoretical  error  can  have  to  lessen  the 
intrinsic  pleasure  of  virtue,  and  to  unfit  our  habitual  feel- 
ings for  being  the  most  effectual  inducements  to  good  con- 
duct. This  is  the  natural  tendency  of  a  discipline  which 
*brings  utility  too  closely  and  frequently  into  contact  with 
action.  By  this  habit,  in  its  best  state,  an  essentially 
weaker  motive  is  gradually  substituted  for  others  which 
must  always  be  of  more  force.  The  frequent  appeal  to 
utility  as  the  standard  of  action  tends  to  introduce  an  un- 
certainty with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  other  men,  which 
would  render  all  intercourse  insupportable.  It  affords, 
also,  so  fair  a  disguise  for  selfish  and  malignant  passions, 
as  often  to  hide  their  nature  from  him  who  is  their  prey. 
Some  taint  of  these  mean  and  evil  principles  will  at  least 
creep  in,  and  by  their  venom  give  an  animation  not  its 
own  to  the  cold  desire  of  utility.  The  moralists  who 


JAMES  MILL.  173 

take  an  active  part  in  those  affairs  which  often  call  out 
unamiable  passions,  ought  to  guard  with  peculiar  watch- 
fulness against  self-delusions.  The  sin  that  must  most 
easily  beset  them  is  that  of  sliding  from  general  to  par- 
ticular consequences,  —  that  of  trying  single  actions,  in- 
stead of  dispositions,  habits,  and  rules,  by  the  standard  of 
utility,  —  that  of  authorizing  too  great  a  latitude  for  dis- 
cretion and  policy  in  moral  conduct,  —  -that  of  readily 
allowing  exceptions  to  the  most  important  rules,  —  that  of 
loo  lenient  a  censure  of  the  use  of  doubtful  means  when 
the  end  seems  to  them  good,  —  and  that  of  believing  un- 
philosophically,  as  well  as  dangerously,  that  there  can  be 
any  measure  or  scheme  so  useful  to  the  world  as  the*  ex- 
istence of  men  who  would  not  do  a  base  thing  for  any 
public  advantage.  It  was  said  of  Andrew  Fletcher,  "  He 
would  lose  his  life  to  serve  his  country,  but  would  not  do 
a  base  thing  to  save  it."  Let  those  preachers  of  utility 
who  suppose  that  such  a  man  sacrifices  ends  to  means 
consider  whether  the  scorn  of  baseness  be  not  akin  to  the 
contempt  of  danger,  and  whether  a  nation  composed  of 
such  men  would  not  be  invincible.  But  theoretical  prin- 
ciples are  counteracted  by  a  thousand  causes,  which  con- 
fine their  mischief  as  well  as  circumscribe  their  benefits. 
Men  are  never  so  good  or  so  bad  as  their  opinions.  All 
that  can  be  with  reason  apprehended  is,  that  they  may 
always  produce  some  part  of  their  natural  evil,  and  that 
the  mischief  will  be  greatest  among  the  many  who  seek 
excuses  for  these  passions.  Aristippus  found  in  the  So- 
cratic  representation  of  the  union  of  virtue  and  happiness 
a  pretext  for  sensuality  ;  and  many  Epicureans  became 
voluptuaries  in  spite  of  the  example  of  their  master,  easily 
dropping  by  degrees  the  limitations  by  which  he  guarded 
his  doctrines.  In  proportion  as  a  man  accustoms  him- 
self to  be  influenced  by  the  utility  of  particular  acts, 
without  regard  to  rules,  he  approaches  to  the  casuistry 
of  the  Jesuits,  and  to  the  practical  maxims  of 
Borgia, 


IV.  Mr.  MilVs    Errors   respecting   Government  and 
Education.]     Mr.  Mill  derives  the  whole  theory  of  gov- 
'       15* 


174  THE    MORAL    FACULTY. 

ernment*  from  the  single  fact,  that  every  man  pursues  his 
interest  when  he  knows  it  ;  which  he  assumes  to  be  a  sort 
of  self-evident  practical  principle,  if  such  a  phrase  be  not 
contradictory.  That  a  man's  pursuing  the  interest  of 
another,  or  indeed  any  other  object  in  nature,  is  just  as 
conceivable  as  that  he  should  pursue  his  own  interest,  is  a 
proposition  which  seems  never  to  have  occurred  to  this 
acute  and  ingenious  writer.  Nothing,  however,  can  be 
more  certain  than  its  truth,  if  the  term  "  interest  "  be  em- 
ployed in  its  proper  sense  of  general  well-being,  which  is 
the  only  acceptation  in  which  it  can  serve  the  purpose  of 
his  arguments.  If,  indeed,  the  term  be  employed  to  de- 
note, the  gratification  of  a  predominant  desire,  his  proposi- 
tion is  self-evident,  but  wholly  unserviceable  in  his  argu- 
ment ;  for  it  is  clear  that  individuals  and  multitudes  often 
desire  what  they  know  to  be  most  inconsistent  with  their 
general  welfare.  A  nation,  as  much  as  an  individual,  and 
sometimes  more,  may  not  only  mistake  its  interest,  but, 
perceiving  it  clearly,  may  prefer  the  gratification  of  a  strong 
passion  to  it.  The  whole  fabric  of  his  political  reasoning 
seems  to  be  overthrown  by  this  single  observation  ;  and 
instead  of  attempting  to  explain  the  immense  variety  of 
political  facts  by  the  simple  principle  of  a  contest  of  in- 
terests, we  are  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  once  more  re- 
ferring them  to  that  variety  of  passions,  habits,  opinions, 
and  prejudices,  which  we  discover  only  by  experience. 

Mr.  Mill's  Essay  on  Education-^  affords  another  exam- 
ple of  the  inconvenience  of  leaping  at  once  from  the  most 
general  laws  to  a  multiplicity  of  minute  appearances. 
Having  assumed,  or  at  least  inferred  from  insufficient 
premises,  that  the  intellectual  and  moral  character  is  en- 
tirely formed  by  circumstances,  he  proceeds,  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  essay,  as  if  it  were  a  necessary  consequence  of 
that  doctrine,  that  we  might  easily  acquire  the  power  of 
combining  and  directing  circumstances  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  produce  the  best  possible  character.  Without  dis- 
puting for  the  present  the  theoretical  proposition,  let  us 

*  Essay  on  Government,  in  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  seventh 
edition.  His  contributions  to  that  work  have  also  been  collected  in  an 
octavo  volume,  and  published  separately.  —  ED. 

t  In  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica^  seventh  edition. 


JAMES    MILL.  175 

consider  what  would  be  the  reasonableness  of  similar  ex- 
pectations in  a  more  easily  intelligible  case.  The  general 
theory  of  the  winds  is  pretty  well  understood  ;  we  know 
that  they  proceed  from  the  rushing  of  air  from  those  por- 
tions of  the  atmosphere  which  are  more  condensed  into 
those  which  are  more  rarefied  ;  but  how  great  a  chasrn  is 
there  between  that  simple  law  and  the  great  variety  of 
facts  which  experience  teaches  us  respecting  winds  \  The 
constant  winds  between  the  tropics  are  large  and  regular 
enough  to  be  in  some  measure  capable  of  explanation  ; 
but  who  can  tell  why,  in  variable  climates,  the  wind  blows 
to-day  from  the  east,  to-morrow  from  the  west  ?  Who 
can  foretell  what  its  shiftings  and  variations  are  to  be  ? 
Who  can  account  for  a  tempest  on  one  day,  and  a  calm 
on  another  ?  Even  if  we  could  foretell  the  irregular  and 
infinite  variations,  how  far  might  we  not  still  be  from  the 
power  of  combining  and  guiding  their  causes  ?  No  man 
but  the  lunatic  in  the  story  of  Rasselas  ever  dreamt  that 
he  could  command  the  weather.  The  difficulty  plainly 
consists  in  the  multiplicity  and  minuteness  of  the  circum- 
stances which  act  on  the  atmosphere.  Are  those  which 
influence  the  formation  of  the  human  character  likely  to  be 
less  minute  and  multiplied  ?  * 

*  In  reply  to  this  criticism,  and  to  otjjer  parts  of  the  volume  from 
which  it  is  taken,  Mr.  Mill  published  anonymously,  in  1835,  an  octavo 
volume  under  the  title  of  A  Fragment  on  Mackintosk.  On  some  points 
the  defence  is  able  and  successful ;  but  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  greatly 
impaired  by  the  vituperation,  not  to  say  scurrility,  in  which  it  abounds. 

After  what  has  been  said  in  the  text,  it  is  but  justice  to  add,  that  the 
later  followers  or  admirers  of  Bentham  are  not  unable  to  see,  or  unwil- 
ling to  acknowledge,  his  defects.  A  writer  in  the  Westminster  Reridr, 
for  July,  1838,  who  begins  by  making  the  great  hierophant  of  utilitari- 
anism to  be  one  of  "  the  two  great  seminal  minds  of  England  in  their 
age,"  expresses  himself  thus:  — "Bentham's  contempt  of  all  other 
schools  of  thinkers,  and  his  determination  to  create  a  philosophy  wholly 
out  of  the  materials  furnished  by  his  own  mind,  and  by  minds  like  his 
own,  were  his  first  disqualification  as  a  philosopher.  His  second  was 
the  incompleteness  of  his  own  mind  as  a  representative  of  universal 
human  nature.  In  many  of  the  most  natural  and  strongest  feelings  of 
human  nature  he  had  no  sympathy ;  from  many  of  its  gravest  expe- 
riences he  was  altogether  cut  off;  and  the  faculty  by  which  one  mind 
unden-tands  a  mind  different  from  itself,  and  throws  itself  into  the  feel- 
ings of  that  other  mind,  was  denied  him  by  his  deficiency  of  imagination. 

"  Bentham's  knowledge  of  human  nature  is  wholly  empirical ;  and 
the  empiricism  of  one  who  has  had  little  experience.  He  had  neither 
internal  experience  nor  external ;  the  quiet,  even  tenor  of  his  life  and 


176  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ANALYSIS   OF   OUR   MORAL    PERCEPTIONS   AND 
EMOTIONS. 

I.  Butler's  Proofs  of  Man's  Moral  JVaiwre.]  Before 
proceeding  to  this  extensive  and  difficult  subject,  I  shall 
quote  a  passage  from  Dr.  Butler,  in  which  he  has  com- 
bined together,  and  compressed  into  the  compass  of  a  few 
paragraphs,  all  the  most  important  arguments  in  proof  of 
the  existence  of  the  moral  faculty  which  have  been  hitherto 
under  our  review.  While  this  quotation  serves  as  a  sum- 
mary of  what  has  already  been  stated,  it  will,  I  hope, 
prepare  us  for  entering  on  the  following  discussions  with 
greater  interest  and  a  more  enlightened  curiosity. 

"  That  which  renders  beings  capable  of  moral  govern- 
ment is  their  having  a  moral  nature,  and  moral  faculties  of 
perception  and  of  action.  Brute  creatures  are  impressed 
and  actuated  by  various  instincts  and  propensities  :  so  also* 
are  we.  But,  additional  to  this,  we  have  a  capacity  for 
reflecting  upon  actions  and  characters,  and  making  them 
an  object  to  our  thought ;  and  on  doing  this  we  naturally 

his  healthiness  of  mind  conspired  to  exclude  him  from  both.  He  never 
knew  prosperity  nor  adversity,  passion  nor  satiety  ;  he  never  had  even 
the  experience  which  sickness  gives, —  he  lived  from  childhood  to  the 
age  of  eighty-five  in  boyish  health.  He  knew  no  dejection,  no  heavi- 
ness of  heart.  He  never  felt  life  a  sore  and  a  weary  burden.  He  was 
a  boy  to  the  last.  Self-consciousness,  that  demon  of  the  men  of  genius 
of  our  time,  from  Wordsworth  to  Byron,  from  Goethe  to  Chateaubriand, 
and  to  which  this  age  owes  most  both  of  its  cheerful  and  its  mournful 
wisdom,  never  was  awakened  in  hirn.  How  much  of  human  nature 
slumbered  in  him  he  knew  not,  neither  can  we  know. 

"  This,  then,  is  our  idea  of  Bentham.  He  was  a  man  both  of  remark- 
able endowments  for  philosophy  and  of  remarkable  deficiencies  for  it  j 
fitted  beyond  almost  any  man  for  drawing  from  his  premises  conclusions 
not  only  correct,  but  sufficiently  precise  and  specific  to  be  practical,  but 
whose  general  conception  of  human  nature  and  life  furnished  him  with 
an  unusually  slender  stock  of  premises.  It  is  obvions  what  would  be 
likely  to  be  achieved  by  such  a  man  ;  what  a  thinker  thus  gifted  and 
thus  disqualified  could  be  in  philosophy.  He  could  be  a  systematic  and 
logical  half-man,  hunting  half-truths  to  their  consequences  and  practical 
application,  on  a  scale  both  of  greatness  and  minuteness  not  previously 
exemplified :  and  this  is  the  character  which  posterity  will  probably 
assign  to  Bentham."  —  ED. 


MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS.  177 

and  unavoidably  approve  some  actions,  under  the  peculiar 
view  of  their  being  virtuous  and  of  good  desert,  and  dis- 
approve others  as  vicious  and  of  ill  desert.  That  we  have 
this  moral  approving  and  disapproving  faculty  is  certain 
from  our  experiencing  it  in  ourselves,  and  recognizing  it  in 
each  other.  It  appears  from  our  exercising  it  unavoidably 
in  the  approbation  and  disapprobation  even  of  feigned 
characters  ;  from  the  words  right  and  wrong,  odious  and 
amiable,  base  and  worthy,  with  many  others  of  like  signifi- 
cation in  all  languages,  applied  to  actions  and  characters  ; 
from  the  many  written  systems  of  morals  which  suppose 
it,  since  it  cannot  be  imagined  that  all  these  authors, 
throughout  all  these  treatises,  had  absolutely  no  meaning 
at  all  to  their  words,  or  a  meaning  merely  chimerical  ; 
from  our  natural  sense  of  gratitude,  which  implies  a  dis- 
tinction between  merely  being  the  instrument  of  good  and 
intending  it ;  from  the  like  distinction  every  one  makes 
between  injury  and  mere  harm,  which  Hobbes'says  is 
peculiar  to  mankind,  and  between  injury  and  just  punish- 
ment, a  distinction  plainly  natural,  prior  to  the  considera- 
tion of  human  laws.  It  is  manifest  great  part  of  common 
language  and  of  common  behaviour  over  the  world  is  form- 
ed upon  supposition  of  such  a  moral  faculty,  whether  called 
conscience,  moral  reason,  moral  sense,  or  divine  reason, — 
whether  considered  as  a  perception  of  the  understanding, 
or  as  a  sentiment  of  the  heart,  or,  which  seems  the  truth, 
as  including  both.  Nor  is  it  at  all  doubtful,  in  the  general, 
what  course  of  action  this  faculty,  or  practical  discerning 
power  within  us,  approves,  and  what  it  disapproves.  For, 
as  much  as  it  has  been  disputed  wherein  virtue  consists, 
or  whatever  ground  for  doubt  there  may  be  about  par- 
ticulars, yet  in  general  there  is  in  reality  a  universally 
acknowledged  standard  of  it.  It  is  that  which  all  ages 
and  all  countries  have  made  profession  of  in  public,  —  it 
is  that  which  every  man  you  meet  puts  on  the  show  of,  — 
it  is  that  which  the  primary  and  fundamental  laws  of  all 
civil  constitutions  over  the  face  of  the  earth  make  it  their 
business  and  endeavour  to  enforce  the  practice  of  upon 
mankind,  namely,  justice,  veracity,  and  regard  to  common 
good."  * 

*  Dissertation  on  the  Nature  of  Virtue. 


178        MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

Upon  the  various  topics  here  suggested,  a  copious  and 
instructive  commentary  might  be  written,  but  I  think  it 
better  to  leave  them  in  the  concise  and  impressive  form  in 
which  they  are  proposed  by  the  author. 

II.  Theoretical  and  PraclicalJ\f orals. ~]  The  science  of 
ethics  has  been  divided  by  modern  writers  into  two  parts  ; 
the  one  comprehending  the  theory  of  morals,  and  the  other 
its  practical  doctrines. 

The  questions  about  which  the  former  is  employed  are 
chiefly  the  two  following  :  First,  by  what  principle  of  our 
constitution  are  we  led  to  form  the  notion  of  moral  distinc- 
tions, —  whether  by  that  faculty  which  perceives  the  dis- 
tinction between  truth  and  falsehood  in  the  other  branches 
of  human  knowledge,  or  by  a  peculiar  power  of  percep- 
tion (called  by  some  the  moral  sense)  which  is  pleased 
with  one  set  of  qualities  and  displeased  with  another  ? 
Secondly,  what  is  the  proper  object  of  moral  approbation  9 
or,  in  other  words,  what  is  the  common  quality  or  qualities 
belonging  to  all  the  different  modes  of  virtue  ?  Is  it  be- 
nevolence, or  a  rational  self-love,  or  a  disposition  (result- 
ing from  the  ascendant  of  reason  over  passion)  to  act 
suitably  to  the  different  relations  in  which  we  are  placed  ? 
These  two  questions  seem  to  exhaust  the  whole  theory 
of  morals.  The  scope  of  the  one  is  to  ascertain  the 
origin  of  our  moral  ideas  ;  that  of  the  other  to  refer  the 
phenomena  of  mora'l  perception  to  their  most  simple  and 
general  laws. 

The  practical  doctrines  of  morality  comprehend  all 
those  rules  of  conduct  which  profess  to  point  out  the 
proper  ends  of  human  pursuit,  and  the  most  effectual 
means  of  attaining  them  ;  to  which  we  may  add,  under  the 
general  title  of  adminicles,  (if  I  may  be  allowed  to  borrow 
a  technical  word  of  Lord  Bacon's,)  all  those  literary  com- 
positions, whatever  be  their  particular  form,  which  have 
for  their  aim  to  fortify  and  animate  our  good  dispositions 
by  delineations  of  the  beauty,  of  the  dignity,  or  of  the 
utility  of  virtue. 

I  shall  not  inquire  at  present  into  the  justness  of  this 
division.  I  shall  only  observe  that  the  words  theory  and 
practice  are  not  in  this  instance  employed  in  their  usual 


MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS.        179 

acceptations.  The  theory  of  morals  does  not  bear,  for 
example,  the  same  relation  to  the  practice  of  morals  that 
the  theory  of  geometry  bears  to  practical  geometry.  In 
this  last  science  all  the  practical  rules  are  founded  on 
theoretical  principles  previously  established.  But  in  the 
former  science  the  practical  rules  are  obvious  to  the 
capacities  of  all  mankind,  while  the  theoretical  principles 
form  one  of  the  most  difficult  subjects  of  discussion  that 
have  ever  exercised  the  ingenuity  of  metaphysicians. 

Although,  however,  a  complete  acquaintance  with  the 
practice  of  our  duty  does  not  presuppose  any  knowledge 
of  the  theory  of  morals,  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that 
false  theoretical  notions  upon  this  subject  may  not  be 
attended  with  very  pernicious  consequences.  On  the  con- 
trary, nothing  is  more  evident  than  this,  that  every  system 
which  calls  in  question  the  immutability  of  moral  distinc- 
tions has  a  tendency  to  undermine  the  foundations  of  all 
the  virtues,  both  private  and  public,  and  to  dry  up  the  best 
and  purest  sources  of  human  happiness.  When  skeptical 
doubts  have  once  been  excited  in  the  mind  by  the  perusal 
of  such  systems,  no  exhortation  to  the  practice  of  our  duties 
can  have  any  effect ;  and  it  is  necessary  for  us,  before  we 
think  of  addressing  the  heart,  or  influencing  the  will,  to 
begin  with  undeceiving  and  enlightening  the  understanding. 
It  is  for  this  reason,  that,  in  such  an  age  as  the  present, 
when  skeptical  doctrines  have  been  so  anxiously  dissemi- 
nated by  writers  of  genius,  it  appears  to  me  to  be  a  still 
more  essential  object  in  academical  instruction,  to  vindi- 
cate the  theory  of  morals  against  the  cavils  of  licentious 
metaphysicians,  than  to  indulge  in  the  more  interesting  and 
popular  disquisitions  of  practical  ethics.  On  the  former 
subject,  much  yet  remains  to  be  done.  On  the  latter, 
although  the  field  of  inquiry  is  by  no  means  as  yet  com- 
pletely exhausted,  the  student  may  be  safely  trusted  to  his 
own  serious  reflections,  guided  by  the  precepts  of  those 
illustrious  men,  who,  in  different  ages  and  countries,  have 
devoted  their  talents  to  the  improvement  and  happiness  of 
the  human  race. 

In  this  department  of  literature  no  country  whatever  has 
surpassed  our  own  ;  whether  we  consider  the  labors  of  the 
great  lights  of  the  English  Church,  or  the  fugitive  essays 


180  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

of  those  later  writers  who  (after  the  example  of  Addison) 
have  attempted  to  enlist  in  the  cause  of  virtue  and  religion 
whatever  aid  fancy,  and  wit,  and  elegance  could  lend  to 
the  support  of  truth.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to 
mention  the  advantage  which  may  be  derived  in  the  same 
study  from  the  philosophical  remains  of  ancient  Greece 
and  Rome,  —  due  allowances  being  made  for  some  un- 
fortunate prejudices  produced  or  encouraged  by  violent 
and  oppressive  systems  of  policy.  Indeed,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  such  prejudices,  it  may  with  great  truth 
be  asserted,  that  they  who  have  been  most  successful,  in 
modern  times,  in  inculcating  the  duties  of  life,  have  been 
the  moralists  who  have  trod  the  most  closely  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  Greek  and  Roman  philosophers.  The  case 
is  different  with  respect  to  the  theory  of  morals,  which, 
among  the  ancients,  attracted  comparatively  but  a  small 
degree  of  attention,  although  one  of  the  questions  formerly 
mentioned  (that  concerning  the  object  of  moral  approba- 
tion) was  a  favorite  subject  of  discussion  in  their  schools. 
The  other  question,  however,  (that  concerning  the  princi- 
ple of  moral  approbation,)  with  the  exception  of  a  few  hints 
in  the  writings  of  Plato,  may  be  considered  as  in  a  great 
measure  peculiar  to  modern  Europe,  having  been  chiefly 
agitated  since  the  writings  of  Cudworth  in  opposition  to 
those  of  Hobbes  ;  and  it  is  this  question,  accordingly, 
(recommended  at  once  by  its  novelty  and  difficulty  to  the 
curiosity  of  speculative  men,)  that  has  produced  most  of 
the  theories  which  characterize  and  distinguish  from  each 
other  the  later  systems  of  moral  philosophy. 

III.  Analysis  of  Moral  Perceptions  and  Emotions.] 
It  appears  to  me  that  the  diversity  of  these  systems  has 
arisen,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the  partial  views  which 
different  writers  have  taken  of  the  same  complicated  sub- 
ject ;  that  these  systems  are  by  no  means  so  exclusive  of 
each  other  as  has  commonly  been  imagined  ;  and  that, 
in  order  to  arrive  at  the  truth,  it  is  necessary  for  us,  instead 
of  attaching  ourselves  to  any  one,  to  avail  ourselves  of  the 
lights  which  all  of  them  have  furnished.  Our  moral  per- 
ceptions and  emotions  are,  in  fact,  the  result  of  different 
principles  combined  together.  They  involve  a  judgment 


HOBBES.  181 

of  the  understanding,  and  they  involve  also  a  feeling  of 
the  heart ;  and  it  is  only  by  attending  to  both  that  we  can 
form  a  just  notion  of  our  moral  constitution.  In  con- 
firmation of  this  remark,  it  will  be  necessary  for  us  to 
analyze  particularly  the  state  of  our  minds,  when  we  are 
spectators  of  any  good  or  bad  action  performed  by  another 
person,  or  when  we  reflect  on  the  actions  performed  by 
ourselves.  On  such  occasions  we  are  conscious  of  three 
different  things  :  — 

J .   The  perception  of  an  action  as  right  or  wrong. 

2.  An  emotion  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  varying  in  its  de- 
gree according  to  the  acuteness  of  our  moral  sensibility. 

3.  A  perception  of  the  merit  or  demerit  of  the  agent. 


SECTION  I. 

OF    THE    PERCEPTION    OF    RIGHT    AND    WRONG. 

I.  Views  entertained  by  Hobbes.']  The  controversy 
concerning  the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas  took  its  rise  in 
modern  times,  in  consequence  of  the  writings  of  Mr. 
Hobbes.  According  to  him,  we  approve  of  virtuous  ac- 
tions, or  of  actions  beneficial  to  society,  from  self-love, 
as  we  know  that  whatever  promotes  the  interest  of  society 
kas  on  that  very  account  an  indirect  tendency  to  promote 
our  own.  He  further  taught,  that,  as  it  is  to  the  institu- 
tion of  government  we  are  indebted  for  all  the  comforts 
and  the  confidence  of  social  life,  the  laws  which  the  civil 
magistrate  enjoins  are  the  ultimate  standards  of  morality. 

Dangerous  as  these  doctrines  are,  some  apology  may 
be  made  for  the  author  from  the  unfortunate  circumstances 
of  the  times  in  which  he  lived.  He  had  been  a  witness 
of  the  disorders  which  took  place  in  England  at  the  time 
of  the  dissolution  of  the  monarchy  by  the  death  of  Charles 
the  First ;  and,  in  consequence  of  his  mistaken  specula- 
tions on  the  politics  of  that  period,  he  contracted  a  bias  in 
favor  of  despotical  government,  and  was  led  to  consider  it 
as  the  duty  of  a  good  citizen  to  strengthen,  as  much  as 
possible,  the  hands  of  the  civil  magistrate,  by  inculcating 
the  doctrines  of  passive  obedience  and  non-resistance.  It 
was  with  this  view  that  he  was  led  to  maintain  the  philo- 
16 


182      MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

sophical  principles  which  have  been  already  mentioned. 
He  seems  likewise  to  have  formed  a  very  unfavorable 
idea  of  the  clerical  order,  from  the  instances  which  his 
own  experience  afforded  of  their  turbulence  and  ambition  ; 
and  on  that  account  he  wished  to  subject  the  consciences 
of  men  immediately  to  the  secular  powers.  In  conse- 
quence of  this,  his  system,  although  offensive  in  a  very 
high  degree  to  all  sound  moralists,  provoked  in  a  more 
peculiar  manner  the  resentment  of  the  clergy,  and  drew  on 
the  author  a  great  deal  of  personal  obloquy,  which  neither 
his  character  in  private  life,  nor  his  intentions  as  a  writer, 
appear  to  have  merited. 

IF.  Reply  of  his  Antagonists. ~]  Among  the  antagonists 
of  Hobbes,  the  most  eminent  by  far  was  Dr.  Cudworth  ; 
and  indeed  modern  times  have  not  produced  an  author 
who  was  better  qualified  to  do  justice  to  the  very  impor- 
tant argument  he  undertook,  by  his  ardent  zeal  for  the 
best  interests  of  mankind,  by  his  singular  vigor  and  com- 
prehensiveness of  thought,  and  by  the  astonishing  treasures 
he  had  collected  of  ancient  literature. 

That  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  are  not  derived  from 
positive  law,  Cudworth  concluded  from  the  following  argu- 
ment :  —  "  Suppose  such  a  law  to  be  established,  it  must 
either  be  right  to  obey  it,  and  wrong  to  disobey  it,  or 
indifferent  whether  we  obey  or  disobey  it.  But  a  law 
which  it  is  indifferent  whether  we  obey  or  not  cannot,  it  is 
evident,  be  the  source  of  moral  distinctions  ;  and,  on  the 
contrary  supposition,  if  it  is  right  to  obey  the  law,  and 
wrong  to  disobey  it,  these  distinctions  must  have  had  an 
existence  antecedent  to  the  law."  *  In  a  word,  it  is  from 
natural  law  that  positive  law  derives  all  its  force. 

The  same  argument  against  Hobbes  is  thus  staled  by 
Lord  Shaftesbury. 

"It  is  ridiculous  to  say  there  is  any  obligation  on  man 
to  act  sociably  or  honestly  in  a  formed  government,  and 
not  in  that  which  is  commonly  called  the  state  of  nature. 
For,  to  speak  in  the  fashionable  language  of  our  modern 
philosophy,  society  being  founded  on  a  compact,  the  sur- 

*  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  VII.  Sect.  iii.  Cliap.  ii. 


HOBBES.  183 

render  made  of  every  man's  private  unlimited  right  into 
the  hands  of  the  majority,  or  such  as  the  majority  should 
appoint,  was  of  free  choice,  and  by  a  promise.  Now  the 
promise  itself  was  made  in  a  state  of  nature,  and  that 
which  could  make  a  promise  obligatory  in  the  state  of 
nature  must  make  all  other  acts  of  humanity  as  much  our 
real  duty  and  natural  part.  Thus  faith,  justice,  honesty, 
and  virtue  must  have  been  as  early  as  the  state  of  nature, 
or  they  could  never  have  been  at  all.  The  civil  union  or 
confederacy  could  never  make  right  or  wrong  if  they  sub- 
sisted not  before.  He  who  was  free  to  any  villany  be- 
fore his  contract  will  and  ought  to  make  as  free  with  his 
contract  when  he  sees  fit.  The  natural  knave  has  the 
same  reason  to  be  a  civil  one,  and  may  dispense  with  his 
politic  capacity  as  oft  as  he  sees  occasion  ;  it  is  only 
his  word  stands  in  the  way.  A  man  is  obliged  to  keep 
his  word.  Why  ?  Because  he  has  given  his  word  to 
keep  it.  Is  not  this  a  notable  account  of  the  original  of 
moral  justice,  and  the  rise  of  civil  government  and  alle- 
giance ?  "  * 

To  these  observations  it  may  be  added,  that  our  notions 
of  right  and  wrong  are  so  far  from  owing  their  origin  to 
positive  institutions,  that  they  afford  us  the  chief  standard 
to  which  we  appeal,  in  comparing  different  positive  institu- 
tions with  each  other.  Were  it  not  for  this  test,  how 
could  we  pronounce  one  code  to  be  more  humane,  more 
liberal,  or  more  equitable  than  another  ?  or  how  could  we 
feel  that,  in  our  own  municipal  regulations,  some  are  con- 
sonant and  others  repugnant  to  the  principles  of  justice. 
"  Let  any  one,"  says  a  learned  and  judicious  civilian,  "  ac- 
quaint himself  with  the  sanguinary  system  of  Draco,  and 
then  view  it  as  tempered  with  the  philosophy  of  Solon, 
and  the  softer  refinements  of  a  better  age  ;  let  him  look 
with  the  eye  of  speculation  upon  an  establishment  that 
directs  '  not  to  seethe  a  kid  in  its  mother's  milk';  nor  to 
'  muzzle  the  ox  when  he  treadeth  out  the  corn  ';  when  our 
brother's  cattle  go  astray  or  fall  down  by  the  way,  not  to 
'hide  ourselves  from  them';  that  acquits  the  betrothed 
damsel  who  was  violated  at  a  distance,  and  out  of  hearing, 

*  Freedom  of  Wit,  Part  III.  Sect.  i. 


184  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

upon  this  compassionate  suggestion,  —  '  For  he  found  her 
in  the  field,  and  the  betrothed  damsel  cried,  and  there  was 
none  to  save  her';  let  him  reflect,  I  say,  on  his  own 
feelings  when  he  considers  these  different  enactments,  and 
then  judge  how  far  they  agree  with  the  philosophy  of 
Hobbes."* 

Agreeably  to  this  view  of  positive  institutions,  Demos- 
thenes remarks,  —  "  The  laws  of  a  country  may  be  regard- 
ed as  a  criterion  for  estimating  the  morals  of  the  state,  and 
the  prevailing  character  of  the  people."  t 

III.  Origin  and  History  of  Hobbes^s  Doctrine.]  It  is 
justly  observed  by  Cudworth,  that  the  doctrines  now  under 
consideration  are  not  peculiar  to  the  system  of  Hobbes  ; 
and  that  similar  opinions  have  been  entertained  in  all  ages 
by  those  writers  who  were  either  anxious  to  flatter  the 
passions  of  tyrannical  rulers,  or  who  had  a  secret  bias  to 
atheistic  and  Epicurean  principles. 

In  confirmation  of  this  remark,  he  takes  a  review  of  the 
principal  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  undermine  the 
foundations  of  morals,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times, 
and  interweaves  with  this  history  many  profound  reflec- 
tions of  his  own.  The  following  paragraphs  contain  the 
substance  of  this  part  of  his  work,  and  I  hope  will  furnish 
an  interesting,  as  well  as  useful,  introduction  to  the  reason- 
ings I  am  afterwards  to  offer  in  vindication  of  the  reality 
and  immutability  of  moral  distinctions. 

"  As  the  vulgar  generally  look  no  higher  for  the  origi- 

*  Taylor  On  the  Civil  Law,  p.  159. 

t  Adv.  Timocrat.  Taylor  gives  the  passage  from  which  this  is  taken 
in  the  version  of  the  Latin  translator:  —  "Illud  igitur  vobis  est  etiain 
considerandum,  multos  GrsBcorum  saspe  deerevisse,  vestris  utendum 
esse  legibus:  id  quod  vobis  laudi  haud  injuria  ducitis.  Nam  verum 
illud  mihi  videtur,  quod  quendam  apud  vos  dixisse  ferunt :  omnes  cor- 
datos  in  ea  esse  sententia,  ut  leges  nihil  aliud  esse  putcnt  quam  mores 
civitales.  Danda  igitur  est  opera,  ut  ere  quam  optima?  esse  videantur." 

[A  new  interest  has  been  awakened  of  late  in  Hobbes  and  his 
writings.  See  Cousin,  Cours  d'Histoire  de  la  Philosophic  Morale  nu 
XVIII"  Siecle,  Premiere  Partie  :  Ecole  Sen.<rnaliste,  Lemons  VII. -IX. 
Jouffroy,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Lectures  XIII.  and  XIV.  Damiron, 
L'Histoire  de  la  Philosophie  au  XVHe-  Si&cle,  Liv.  III.  Hazlitt's  Liter- 
ary Remains,  Essay  VI.  Blakey's  History  of  Moral  Science,  Chap.  IV. 
Mackintosh's  Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy,  Sect.  IV.  Fragment  on 
Mackintosh,  Sect.  II.  Hallam's  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe, 
Vol.  III.  Chap.  iii.  Sect,  iv.] 


HOBBES.  185 

nal  of  moral  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  than  the  codes 
and  pandects,  the  tables  and  laws,  of  their  country  and 
religion,  so  there  have  not  wanted  pretended  philosophers 
in  all  ages,  uho  have  asserted  nothing  to  be  good  and 
evil,  just  and  unjust,  naturally  and  immutably,  yvau  x«J 
dxivr,™? ;  but  that  all  these  things  were  positive,  arbitrary, 
and  factitious  only.  Such  Plato  mentions,  in  his  Tenth 
Book,  De  Legibus,  who  maintained,  '  that  nothing  at  all 
was  naturally  just,  but  men,  changing  their  opinions  con- 
cerning them  perpetually,  sometimes  made  one  thing  just, 
sometimes  another  ;  but  whatever  is  decreed  and  consti- 
tuted, that  for  the  time  is  valid,  being  made  so  by  acts 
and  laws,  but  not  by  any  nature  of  its  own.'  And  Aris- 
totle more  than  once  takes  notice  of  this  opinion  in  his 
Ethics.  '  Things  honest  and  just,  which  politics  are  con- 
versant about,  have  so  great  a  variety  and  uncertainty  in 
them,  that  they  seem  to  be  only  by  law  and  not  by  nature.'  * 
And  afterwardsf  —  having  divided  TO  Slxatov  nohnxor, 
'  that  which  is  politically  just,'  into  tpvatxw,  i.  e.  'natural,' 
'  which  has  everywhere  the  same  force,'  and  ro/utxoV, 
i.  e.  '  legal,'  '  which,  before  there  be  a  law  made,  is  indif- 
ferent, but,  when  once  the  law  is  made,  is  determined  to 
be  just  or  unjust '  —  he  adds,  '  Some  there  are  that  think 
there  is  no  other  just  or  unjust  but  what  is  made  by  law 
and  men,  because  that  which  is  natural  is  immutable,  and 
hath  everywhere  the  same  force,  whereas  jura  and  justa, 
"rights"  and  "just  things,"  are  everywhere  different.' 
The  latter,  therefore,  they  conceive  to  be  analogous  to 
wine  and  wheat  measures,  which  vary  from  place  to  place, 
according  to  local  customs  ;  the  former  they  compare  to 
the  properties  of  fire,  which  produce  the  same  effects  in 
Persia  and  Greece. 

u  After  these  succeeded  Epicurus,  the  reviver  of  the 
Democritical  philosophy,  the  frame  of  whose  principles 
must  needs  lead  him  to  deny  justice  and  injustice  to  be 
natural  things  ;  and  therefore  he  determines  that  they 
arise  wholly  from  mutual  pacts  and  covenants  of  men, 
made  for  their  own  convenience  and  utility.  '  Those 
living  creatures  that  could  not  make  mutual  covenants 

*  Ethic.  Me.  Lib.  I.  c.  i.  t  Lib.  V.  c.  x. 

16* 


186  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

together  not  to  hurt,  nor  to  be  hurt,  by  one  another,  could 
not,  for  this  cause,  have  any  such  thing  as  just  or  unjust 
among  them.  And  there  is  the  same  reason  for  those 
nations  that  either  will  not  or  cannot  make  such  com- 
pacts :  for  there  is  no  such  thing  as  justice  by  itself,  but 
only  in  the  mutual  congresses  of  men.'  Or,  (as  the  late 
compiler  of  the  Epicurean  system  expresses  the  same 
meaning,)  '  there  are  some  who  think  that  those  things 
which  are  just  are  just  according  to  their  proper,  unvaried 
nature,  and  that  the  laws  do  not  make  them  just,  but  only 
prescribe  according  to  that  nature  which  they  have  :  but 
the  thing  is  not  so.'  * 

"  And  since  in  this  latter  age  the  physiological  hypoth- 
eses of  Democritus  and  Epicurus  have  been  revived,  a'nd 
successfully  applied  to  the  solving  of  some  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  visible  world,  there  have  not  wanted  some 
that  have  endeavoured  to  vent  also  those  other  paradoxes 
of  the  same  philosophers,  viz.  that  there  is  no  incorporeal 
substance,  nor  any  natural  difference  between  good  and 
evil,  just  and  unjust,  and  to  recommend  the  same  under  a 
show  of  wisdom,  as  the  deep  and  profound  mysteries  of 
the  atomical  and  corpuscular  philosophy,  as  if  senseless 
matter  and  atoms  were  the  original  of  all  things,  according 
to  the  song  of  old  Silenus  in  Virgil.  Of  this  sort  is  that 
late  writer  of  ethics  and  politics,  who  asserts  '  that  there 
are  no  authentic  doctrines  concerning  just  and  unjust, 
good  and  evil,  except  the  laws  which  are  established  in 
every  city  ;  and  that  it  concerns  none  to  inquire  whether 
an  action  be  reputed  just  or  unjust,  good  or  evil,  except 
such  only  whom  the  community  have  appointed  to  be  the 
interpreters  of  their  laws.'  f  '  In  the  state  of  nature,'  ac- 
cording to  him,  '  nothing  can  be  unjust,  and  the  notions  of 
right  and  wrong,  justice  and  injustice,  have  there  no  place. 

*  It  may  be  proper  to  mention  that  Cudworth  alludes  here  to  Gas- 
sendi,  who  was  at  much  pains  to  revive  the  philosophy  of  Epicurus, 
iboth  in  physics  and  morals,  rejecting,  however,  or  palliating  those  parts 
of  it  which  are  most  exceptionable.  With  this  philosopher,  (who  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  most  amiable  and  exemplary  man  in  private  life, 
and  who,  in  learning,  was  not  surpassed  by  any  of  his  contemporaries,) 
Hobbes  lived  in  habits  of  very  intimate  friendship  during  his  long  resi- 
dence in  France.  See  Gassendi  Opera,  Tom.  V.  pp.  129  et  seq. 

t  Hobbes,  De  Cite,  Praefatio. 


HOBBES.  187 

Where  there  is  no  common  power  there  is  no  law  ;  where 
no  law  no  injustice.'  *  '  No  law  can  be  unjust.'  f  Nay, 
temperance  is  no  more  naturally  right,  according  to  this 
philosopher,  than  justice.  '  Sensuality,  in  the  sense  in 
which  it  is  condemned,  hath  no  place  till  there  be  laws.'| 

"  But  whatsoever  was  the  true  meaning  of  these  phi- 
losophers that  affirm  justice  and  injustice  to  be  only  by 
law,  and  not  by  nature,  certain  it  is  that  diverse  modern 
theologers  do  not  only  seriously,  but  zealously,  contend,  in 
like  manner,  that  there  is  nothing  absolutely,  intrinsically, 
and  naturally  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  antecedently 
to  any  positive  command  or  prohibition  of  God,  but  that 
the  arbitrary  will  and  pleasure  of  God,  (that  is  an  Omnip- 
otent Being,  devoid  of  all  essential  and  natural  justice,) 
by  its  commands  and  prohibitions,  is  the  first  and  only 
rule  and  measure  thereof.  Whence  it  follows  unavoida- 
bly, that  nothing  can  be  imagined  so  grossly  wicked,  or 
so  foully  unjust  or  dishonest,  but,  if  it  were  supposed  to  be 
commanded  by  this  omnipotent  Deity,  must  needs,  upon 
that  hypothesis,  forthwith  become  holy,  just,  and  righteous. 
For,  though  the  ancient  fathers  of  the  Christian  Church 
were  very  abhorrent  from  this  doctrine,  yet  it  crept  up 
afterward  in  the  scholastic  age,  Ockham  being  among  the 
first  that  maintained  '  that  there  is  no  act  evil,  but  as  it  is 
prohibited  by  God,  and  which  cannot  be  made  good  if  it 
be  commanded  by  him.'  And  herein  Petrus  Alliacus  and 
Andreas  de  Novo  Castro,  with  others,  quickly  followed 
him. 

"  Now  the  necessary  and  unavoidable  consequences  of 
this  opinion  are  such  as  these :  —  'That  to  love  God  is  by 
nature  an  indifferent  thing,  and  is  morally  good  only  be- 
cause it  is  enjoined  by  his  command  '  ;  '  that  holiness  is 
not  a  conformity  with  the  divine  nature  and  attributes  ' ; 
'  that  God  hath  no  natural  inclination  to  the  good  of  the 
creatures,  and  might  justly  doom  an  innocent  creature  to 
eternal  torment'  ;  —  all  which  propositions,  with  others  of 
the  kind,  are  word  for  word  asserted  by  some  late  authors. 
Though  I  think  not  fit  to  mention  the  names  of  any  of 
them  in  this  place,  excepting  only  one,  Joannes  Szyd- 

*  Leviathan,  Part  I.  Chap.  13.  t  Ibid.,  Part  II.  Chap.  30. 

t  Ibid.,  Part  I.  Chap.  6. 


188       MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

lovius,  who,  in" a  book  published  at  Franeker,  hath  pro- 
fessedly avowed  and  maintained  the  grossest  of  them.  And 
yet  neither  he,  nor  the  rest,  are  to  be  thought  any  more 
blameworthy  herein  than  many  'others,  that,  holding  the 
same  premises,  have  either  dissembled  or  disowned  those 
conclusions  which  unavoidably  follow  therefrom,  but  rather 
to  be  commended  for  their  openness,  simplicity,  and  inge- 
nuity in  representing  their  opinion  naked  to  the  world, 
such  as  indeed  it  is,  without  any  veil  or  mask. 

"  Wherefore,  since  there  are  so  many,  both  philoso- 
phers and  theologians,  that  seemingly  and  verbally  ac- 
knowledge such  things  as  moral  good  and  evil,  just  and 
unjust,  yet  contend,  notwithstanding,  that  these  are  not  by 
nature  but  institution,  and  that  there  is  nothing  naturally 
or  immutably  just  or  unjust,  I  shall  from  hence  fetch  the 
rise  of  this  ethical  discourse  or  inquiry  concerning  things 
good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  laudable  and  shameful,  de- 
monstrating, in  the  first  place,  that,  if  there  be  any  thing 
at  all  good  or  evil,  just  or  unjust,  there  must  of  necessity 
be  something  naturally  and  immutably  good  and  just. 
And  from  thence  I  shall  proceed  afterward  to  show  what 
this  natural,  immutable,  and  eternal  justice  is,  with  the 
branches  and  species  of  it."* 

i"^^ 

IV.  Cudworth's  Theory  of  Morals.'}  The  foregoing  very 
long  quotation,  while  it  contains  much  valuable  information 
with  respect  to  the  history  of  moral  science,  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  convey  a  general  idea  of  the  scope  of  CudworuYs 
ethical  inquiries,  and  of  the  prevailing  opinions  among  phi- 
losophers upon  this  subject,  at  the  time  when  he  wrote. 
For  the  details  of  his  argument  I  must  refer  to  his  work. 
It  is  sufficient  for  my  present  purpose  to  observe,  that  he 
seems  plainly  to  have  considered  our  notions  of  right  and 
wrong  as  incapable  of  analysis,  that  is,  (to  use  the  language 
of  more  modern  writers,)  he  considered  them  as  simple 
ideas  or  notions,  of  which  the  names  do  not  admit  of  defini- 
tion. In  this  respect,  also,  his  philosophy  differs  from  that 

*  Eternal  and  Immutable  Morality,  Book  I.  Chap.  i.  Here,  as  in 
some  other  cases,  Mr.  Stewart  does  not  cite  the  whole  of  the  passage 
continuously,  as  it  stands  in  the  original,  but  those  parts  only  which  are 
to  his  purpose,  sometimes  giving  merely  the  substance.  —  ED. 


CUDWORTH.  189 

of  Hobbes,  who,  as  we  have  already  remarked,  ascribes 
our  moral  judgments,  not  to  an  immediate  perception  of 
the  qualities  of  actions,  but  to  a  view  of  their  tendencies, 
which  we  approve  or  disapprove  according  as  they  appear 
to  be  conducive  or  not  to  our  own  interest,  or  to  that  of 
society.  Indeed,  according  to  Hobbes,  these  two  ten- 
dencies coincide,  or  rather  are  the  same,  for  he  appre- 
hended that  all  our  zeal  for  the  public  good  originates  in  a 
selfish  principle.  "  Man,"  he  said,  "  is  driven  to  society 
by  necessity,  and  whatever  promotes  its  interest  is  judged 
to  have  a  remote  tendency  to  promote  his  own."  Thus 
he  attempts  to  account  for  our  approbation  of  virtue  by 
resolving  it  into  self-love,  and,  of  consequence,  to  resolve 
the  notions  expressed  by  the  words  right  and  wrong  into 
other  notions  more  simple  and  general.  This  theory  I 
have  already  endeavoured  to  refute  at  some  length,  and  I 
have  only  now  to  add  to  what  was  formerly  remarked  with 
respect  to  it,  that,  if  it  were  agreeable  to  fact,  the  words 
right  and  wrong  would  be  synonymous  with  advantageous 
and  disadvantageous ;  and  to  say  that  those  actions  are 
right  which  are  calculated  to  promote  our  own  happiness 
would  be  an  identical  proposition. 

Cudworth's  opinion,  on  the  contrary,  led  him  to  con- 
sider our  perception  of  right  and  wrong  as  an  ultimate  fact 
in  our  nature.  Indeed,  to  those  whose  judgments  are  not 
warped  by  preconceived  theories,  no  fact  with  respect  to 
the  human  mind  can  well  appear  more  incontestable.  We 
can  define  the  words  right  and  wrong  only  by  synonymous 
words  and  phrases,  or  by  the  properties  and  necessary 
concomitants  of  what  they  denote.  Thus,  "  we  may  say 
of  the  word  right,  that  it  expresses  what  we  ought  to  do, 
what  is  fair  and  honest,  what  is  approvable,  what  every 
man  professes  to  be  the  rule  of  his  conduct,  what  all  men 
praise,  and  what  is  in  itself  laudable,  though  no  man 
praise  if."*  In  such  definitions  and  explanations  it  is 
evident  we  only  substitute  a  synonymous  expression  in- 
stead of  the  word  defined,  or  we  characterize  the  quality 
which  the  word  denotes  by  some  circumstance  connected 
with  it  or  resulting  from  it  as  a  consequence  ;  and  there- 

*  Reid,  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  III.  Part  III.  Chap.  v. 


190       MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

fore  we  may,  with  confidence,  conclude  that  the  word  in 
question  expresses  a  simple  idea. 

The  two  most  important  conclusions,  then,  which  result 
from  Cudworth's  reasonings  in  opposition  to  Hobbes  are 
these  :  —  First,  that  the  mind  is  able  to  form  antecedently 
to  positive  institution  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  ;  and 
secondly,  that  these  words  express  simple  ideas,  or  ideas 
incapable  of  analysis. 

From  these  conclusions  of  Cudworth  a  further  question 
naturally  arose,  —  how  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  were 
formed,  and  to  what  principle  of  our  constitution  they 
ought  to  be  referred.  This  very  interesting  question  did 
not  escape  the  attention  of  Cudworth.  And,  in  answer  to 
it,  he  endeavoured  to  show  that  our  notions  of  moral  dis- 
tinctions are  formed  by  reason,  or,  in  other  words,  by  the 
power  which  distinguishes  truth  from  falsehood.  And 
accordingly  it  became,  for  some  time,  the  fashionable 
language  among  moralists  to  say  that  virtue  consisted,  not 
in  obedience  to  the  law  of  a  superior,  but  in  a  conduct 
conformable  to  reason. 

At  the  time  when  Cudworth  wrote,  no  accurate  classifi- 
cation had  been  attempted  of  the  principles  of  the  human 
mind.  His  account  of  the  office  of  reason,  accordingly, 
in  enabling  us  to  perceive  the  distinction  between  right 
and  wrong,  passed  without  censure,  and  was  understood 
merely  to  imply,  that  there  is  an  eternal  and  immutable 
distinction  between  right  and  wrong,  no  less  than  between 
truth  and  falsehood  ;  and  that  both  these  distinctions  are 
perceived  by  our  rational  powers,  or  by  those  powers 
which  raise  us  above  the  brutes.* 

V.  Connection  of  Lockers  Theory  of  the,  Origin  of 
Ideas  with  this  Inquiry. ]  The  publication  of  Locke's 
Essay  introduced  into  this  part  of  science  a  precision  of 
expression  unknown  before,  and  taught  philosophers  to 
distinguish  a  variety  of  powers  which  had  formerly  been 
very  generally  confounded.  With  these  great  merits, 
however,  his  work  has  capital  defects,  and  perhaps  in  no 

*  For  some  curious  notices  of  Cudworth  and  the  fate  of  his  writings, 
See  D'Israeli's  Amenities  of  Literature,  under  the  head  of  The  True 
Intellectual  System  of  the  Universe.  —  ED. 


HUTCHESON.  191 

part  of  it  are  these  defects  more  important  than  in  the 
attempt  he  has  made  to  deduce  the  origin  of  our  knowl- 
edge entirely  from  sensation  and  reflection.  To  the 
former  of  these  sources  he  refers  the  ideas  we  receive  by 
our  external  senses,  —  of  colors,  sounds,  hardness,  &c. 
To  the  latter,  the  ideas  \ve  derive  from  consciousness  of 
our  own  mental  operations,  —  of  memory,  imagination, 
volition,  pleasure,  pain,  &c.  These,  according  to  him, 
are  the  sources  of  all  our  simple  ideas  ;  and  the  only 
power  that  the  mind  possesses  is  to  perform  certain  op- 
erations of  analysis,  combination,  comparison,  &c.,  on  the 
materials  with  which  it  is  thus  supplied. 

It  was  this  system  of  Locke's  which  led  him  to  those 
dangerous  opinions  that  were  formerly  mentioned  concern- 
ing the  nature  of  moral  distinctions,  which  he  seems  to 
have  considered  as  entirely  the  offspring  of  education  and 
fashion.  Indeed,  if  the  words  right  and  icrong  neither  ex- 
press simple  ideas,  nor  relations  discoverable  by  reason, 
it  will  not  be  found  easy  to  avoid  adopting  this  conclusion. 

In  order  to  reconcile  Locke's  account  of  the  origin^  of 
our  ideas  with  the  immutability  of  moral  distinctions,  dif- 
ferent theories  were  proposed  concerning  the  nature  of 
virtue.  According  to  one,*  for  example,  it  was s  said  to 
consist  in  a  conduct  conformable  to  truth ;  according  to 
another,!  w  a  conduct  conformable  to  the  filness  of  things. 
The  great  object  of  all  these  theories  may  be  considered 
as  the  same,  to  remove  right  and  wrong  from  the  class  of 
simple  ideas,  and  to  resolve  moral  rectitude  into  a  con- 
formity with  some  relation  perceived  by  reason  or  by  the 
understanding. 

VI.  Hutcheson's  Theory  of  a  J\Ioral  Sense.]  Dr. 
Hutcheson  saw  clearly  the  vanity  of  these  attempts,  and 
hence  he  was  led,  in  compliance  with  the  language  of 
Locke's  philosophy,  to  refer  the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas 
to  a  particular  power  of  perception,  to  which  he  gave  the 

*  Mr.  Wollaston,  in  his  Religion  of  Nature  Delineated. 

t  Dr.  Clarke,  in  his  Discourse  concerning  the  Unchangeable  Obligations 
of  Natural  Religion,  and  in  other  works.  [For  the  connection  between 
Locke  and  the  subsequent  English  ethical  theories,  see  Jouffroy,  Lectures 
XXI.  and  XXII.] 


192       MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

name  of  the  moral  sense.  "  All  the  ideas,"  says  he,  "  or 
the  materials  of  our  reasoning  or  judging,  are  received  by 
some  immediate  powers  of  perception,  internal  or  external, 
which  we  may  call  senses."  "  Reasoning  or  intellect 
seems  to  raise  no  new  species  of  ideas,  but  to  discover  or 
discern  the  relations  of  those  received."  * 

According  to  this  system,  as  it  has  been  commonly  ex- 
plained, our  perceptions  of  right  and  wrong  are  impres- 
sions which  our  minds  are  made  to  receive  from  particular 
actions,  similar  to  the  relishes  and  aversions  given  us  for 
particular  objects  of  the  external  and  internal  senses. 

That  this  was  Dr.  Hutcheson's  own  idea  appears  from 
the  following  passage,  in  which  he  endeavours  to  obviate 
some  dangerous  notions  which  were  supposed  to  follow 
from  this  doctrine.  "  Let  none  imagine  that  calling  the 
ideas  of  virtue  and  vice  perceptions  of  sense,  upon  appre- 
hending the  actions  and  affections  of  another,  does  dimin- 
ish their  reality  more  than  the  like  assertions  concerning 
all  pleasure  and  pain,  happiness  or  misery.  Our  reason 
often  corrects  the  report  of  our  senses  about  the  natural 
tendency  of  the  external  action,  and  corrects  rash  conclu- 
sions about  the  affections  of  the  agent.  But  whether  our 
moral  sense  be  subject  to  such  a  disorder  as  to  have  dif- 
ferent perceptions,  from  the  same  apprehended  affections 
in  an  agent,  at  different  times,  as  the  eye  may  have  of  the 
colors  of  an  unaltered  object,  it  is  not  easy  to  determine  ; 
perhaps  it  will  be  hard  to  find  any  instance  of  such  a 
change.  What  reason  could  correct  if  it  fell  into  such  a 
disorder,  I  know  not,  except  suggesting  to  its  remem- 
brance its  former  approbations,  and  representing  the  gen- 
eral sense  of  mankind.  But  this  does  not  prove  ideas  of 
virtue  and  vice  to  be  previous  to  a  sense,  more  than  a  like 
correction  of  the  ideas  of  color  in  a  person  under  the 
jaundice  proves  that  colors  are  perceived  by  reason  pre- 
viously to  sense."  f 

Mr.  Hume,  whose  philosophy  coincides  in  this  respect 
with  Dr.  Hutcheson's,  has  expressed  himself  on  this  sub- 
ject still  more  explicitly.  "  As  virtue  is  an  end,  and  is 
desirable  on  its  own  account,  without  fee  or  reward, 

*  Nature  and  Conduct  of  the  Passions,  Treatise  II.  Sect.  i. 
t  Ibid.,  Treatise  II.  Sect.  iv. 


HUTCHESON.  193 

merely  for  the  immediate  satisfaction  which  it  conveys,  it 
is  requisite  that  there  should  be  some  sentiment  which  it 
touches,  some  internal  taste  or  feeling,  or  whatever  you 
please  to  call  it,  which  distinguishes  moral  good  and  evil, 
and  which  embraces  the  one  and  rejects  the  other. 

"Thus  the  distinct  boundaries  and  offices  of  reason  and 
of  taste  are  easily  ascertained.  The  former  conveys  the 
knowledge  of  truth  and  falsehood  ;  the  latter  gives  the 
sentiment  of  beauty  and  deformity,  vice  and  virtue.  The 
one  discovers  objects  as  they  really  stand  in  nature,  with- 
out addition  or  diminution  ;  the  other  has  a  productive 
faculty,  and,  gilding  or  staining  all  natural  objects  with  the 
colors  borrowed  from  internal  sentiment?  raises,  in  a  man- 
ner, a  new  creation.  Reason,  being  cool  and  disengaged, 
is  no  motive  to  action^  and  directs  only  the  impulse  re- 
ceived from  appetite  or  inclination,  by  showing  us  the 
means  of  attaining  happiness  or  avoiding  misery.  Taste, 
as  it  gives  pleasure  or  pain,  and  thereby  constitutes  hap- 
piness or  misery,  becomes  a  motive  to  action,  and  is  the 
first  spring  or  impulse  to  desire  and  volition.  From  cir- 
cumstances and  relations,  known  or  supposed,  the  former 
leads  us  to  the  discovery  of  the  concealed  and  unknown. 
After  all  circumstances  and  relations  are  laid  before  us, 
the  latter  makes  us  feel  from  the  whole  a  new  sentiment 
of  blame  or  approbation.  The  standard  of  the  one,  being 
founded  on  the  nature  of  things,  is  eternal  and  inflexible, 
even  by  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Being.  The  standard 
of  the  other,  arising  from  the  internal  frame  and  constitu- 
tion of  animals,  is  ultimately  derived  from  that  Supreme 
Will  which  bestowed  on  each  being  its  peculiar  nature, 
and  arranged  the  several  classes  and  orders  of  existence."  * 

In  the  passage  now  quoted  from  Mr.  Hume,  a  slight 
hint  is  given  of  his  skepticism  with  respect  to  the  immuta- 
bility of  moral  distinctions  ;  but,  in  some  other  parts  of 
his  writings,  he  has  openly  and  avowedly  expressed  his 
opinions  upon  this  important  question.  The  words  right 
and  wrong  (according  to  him)  signify  nothing  in  the  ob- 
jects themselves  to  which  they  are  applied,  any  more  than 
the  words  sweet  and  bitter,  pleasant  and  painful,  but  only 

*  Principles  of  Morals,  Appendix  I. 
17 


194  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

certain  effects  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator.  As  it  is  im- 
proper, therefore,  (according  to  the  doctrines  of  some 
modern  philosophers,)  to  say  of  an  object  of  taste  that  it 
is  sweet,  or  of  heat  that  it  is  in  the  fire,  so  it  is  equally 
improper  to  say  of  actions  that  they  are  right  or  wrong. 
It  is  absurd  to  speak  of  morality  as  a  thing  independent 
and  unchangeable,  inasmuch  as  it  arises  from  an  arbitrary 
relation  between  our  constitution  and  particular  objects. 
The  distinction  of  moral  good  and  evil  is  founded  on  the 
pleasure  or  pain  which  results  from  the  view  of  any  senti- 
ment or  character  ;  and,  as  that  pleasure  or  pain  cannot 
be  unknown  to  the  person  who  feels  it,  it  follows  that 
there  is  just  so  much  vice  or  virtue  in  any  character  as 
every  one  places  in  it  ;  and  that  it  is  impossible  in  this 
particular  we  can  ever  be  mistaken.* 

Before  we  proceed  to  an  examination  of  these  conclu- 
sions, it  may  be  worth  while  to  remark,  that  they  have 
not  even  the  merit  of  originality ;  for  we  find  from  the 
Thecetetus  of  Plato,  as  well  as  from  other  remains  of  an- 
tiquity, that  the  same  skepticism  prevailed  among  the 
Grecian  sophists,  and  was  supported  by  nearly  the  same 
arguments.  Protagoras  and  his  followers  extended  it  to 
all  truth,  physical  as  well  as  moral,  and  maintained  that 
every  thing  was  relative  to  perception.  The  following 
maxims  in  particular  have  a  wonderful  coincidence  with 
Hume's  philosophy.  "  Nothing  is  true  or  false,  any  more 
than  sweet  or  sour,  in  itself,  but  relatively  to  the  perceiv- 
ing mind."  "  Man  is  the  measure  of  all  things,  and  every 
thing  is  that,  and  no  other,  which  to  every  one  it  seems  to 
be,  so  that  there  can  be  nothing  true,  nothing  existent,  dis- 
tinct from  the  mind's  own  perceptions." 

With  respect  to  this  skeptical  philosophy,  as  it  is  taught 
in  the  writings  of  Hume,  it  appears  evidently,  from  what 
has  been  already  said,  to  be  founded  entirely  on  the  sup- 
position, that  our  perception  of  the  moral  qualities  of  ac- 
tions has  some  analogy  to  our  perception  of  the  sensible 

*  "Were  I  not  afraid  of  appearing  too  philosophical,  I  should  remind 
my  reader  of  that  famous  doctrine,  supposed  to  be  fully  proved  in  modern 
times,  that  tastes  and  colors,  and  all  other  sensible  qualities,  lie,  not  in 
the  bodies,  but  merely  in  the  senses.  The  case  is  the  same  with  beauty 
and  deformity,  virtue  and  vice." —  Hume's  Essays,  Moral,  Political,  and 
Literary,  Part  I.  Essay  XVIII. 


HUTCHESON.  195 

qualities  of  matter  ;  and  therefore  it  becomes  a  very  in- 
teresting inquiry  for  us  to  examine  how  far  this  supposition 
is  agreeable  to  fact.  Indeed,  this  is  the  most  important 
question  that  can  be  stated  with  respect  to  the  theory  of 
morals  ;  and  yet  I  confess  it  appears  to  me  that  the  ob- 
scurity in  which  it  is  involved  arises  chiefly,  if  not  wholly, 
from  the  use  of  indefinite  and  ambiguous  terms. 

That  moral  distinctions  are  perceived  by  a  sense  is  im- 
plied in  the  definition  of  a  sense  already  quoted  from  Dr. 
Hntcheson.  "  All  the  ideas,  or  the  materials  of  our  rea- 
soning or  judging,  are  received  by  some  immediate  powers 
of  perception,  internal  or  external,  which  we  may  call 
senses.  Reasoning  or  intellect  seems  to  raise  no  new 
species  of  ideas,  but  to  discover  or  discern  the  relations 
of  those  received."  If  this  definition  be  admitted,  there 
cannot  be  a  doubt  that  the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas  must 
be  referred  to  a  sense  ;  at  least  there  can  be  no  doubt 
upon  this  point  among  those  who  hold,  with  Cudworth 
and  with  Price,  that  the  words  right  and  wrong  express 
simple  ideas.  The  latter  of  these  authors,  a  most  zealous 
opposer  of  a  moral  sense,  (and  although  one  of  the  driest 
and  least  engaging  of  our  English  moralists,  yet  certainly 
one  of  the  most  sound  and  judicious,)  grants  that  the 
words  right  and  wrong  are  incapable  of  a  definition,  and 
considers  a  want  of  attention  to  this  circumstance  as  a 
principal  source  of  the  errors  which  have  misled  philoso- 
phers in  treating  of  this  part  of  moral  science.  "  It  is  a 
very  necessary  previous  observation,"  says  he,  "that 
right  and  wrong  denote  simple  ideas,  and  are  therefore  to 
be  ascribed  to  some  power  of  immediate  perception  in  the 
human  mind.  He  that  doubts  need  only  try  to  enumerate 
the  simple  ideas  they  signify,  or  to  give  definitions  of  them 
when  applied  [suppose  to  beneficence  or  cruelty],  which 
shall  amount  to  more  than  synonymous  expressions.  From 
not  attending  to  this  [from  giving  definitions  of  these 
ideas,  and  attempting  to  derive  them  from  deduction  or 
reasoning]  has  proceeded  most  of  that  confusion  in  which 
the  question  concerning  the  foundation  of  morals  has  been 
involved.  There  are,  undoubtedly,  some  actions  that  are 
ultimately  approved,  and  for  justifying  which  no  reason 
can  be  assigned,  as  there  are  some  ends  which  are  ulti- 


196  MORAL   PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

mately  desired,  and  for  choosing  which  no  reason  can  be 
given.  Were  not  this  true,  there  would  be  an  infinite 
series  or  progression  of  reasons  and  ends  subordinate  to 
one  another.  There  would  be  nothing  at  which  to  stop, 
and  therefore  nothing  that  could  at  all  be  approved  or  de- 
sired."* 

It  appears  from  the  foregoing  passage  that  Dr.  Price, 
as  well  as  Dr.  Hutcheson,  ascribes  our  ideas  of  moral  dis- 
tinctions to  a  power  of  immediate  perception  in  the  mind, 
and  therefore  the  difference  between  them  turns  entirely 
on  the  propriety  of  the  definition  of  a  sense  which  Dr. 
Hutcheson  has  given. 

It  may  be  further  observed,  in  justification  of  Dr. 
Hutcheson,  that  the  skeptical  consequences  deduced  from 
his  supposition  of  a  moral  sense  do  not  necessarily  result 
from  it.  Unfortunately,  most  of  his  illustrations  were 
taken  from  the  secondary  qualities  of  matter,  which,  since 
the  time  of  Descartes,  philosophers  have  been  in  general 
accustomed  to  refer  to  the  mind,  and  not  to  the  external 
object.  But  if  we  suppose  our  perception  of  right  and 
wrong  to  be  analogous  to  the  perception  of  extension  and 
figure  and  other  primary  qualities,  the  reality  and  immuta- 
bility of  moral  distinctions  seem  to  be  placed  on  a  founda- 
tion sufficiently  satisfactory  to  a  ca"ndid  inquirer.  That 
our  notions  of  primary  qualities  are  necessarily  accom- 
panied with  a  conviction  of  their  separate  and  independent 
existence  was  formerly  shown  ;  and,  therefore,  to  com- 
pare our  perception  of  right  and  wrong  to  our  perception 
of  extension  and  of  figure,  although  it  may  not,  perhaps,  be 
very  accurate  or  philosophical,  does  not  imply  any  skepti- 
cism with  respect  to  the  immutability  of  moral  distinctions  ; 
at  least  does  not  justify  those  skeptical  inferences  which 
Mr.  Hume  has  endeavoured  to  deduce  from  Dr.  Hutche- 
son's  language. 

The  definition,  however,  of  a  sense  which  Dr.  Hutche- 
son has  given  is  by  far  too  general,  and  was  plainly  sug- 
gested to  him  by  Locke's  account  of  the  origin  of  our 
ideas.  The  words  cause  and  effect ,  duration,  number, 
equality,  identity,  and  many  others,  express  simple  ideas 

*  Review  of  the  Principal  Questions  in  Morals^  Chap.  I.  Sect.  iii. 


PRICE.  197 

as  well  as  the  words  right  and  wrong ;  and  yet  it  would 
surely  be  absurd  to  ascribe  each  of  them  to  a  particular 
power  of  perception  [meaning  thereby  a  sense].  Not- 
withstanding this  circumstance,  as  the  expression  moral 
sense  has  now  the  sanction  of  use,  and  as,  when  properly 
explained,  it  cannot  lead  to  any  bad  consequences,  it  may 
be  still  retained  without  inconvenience  in  ethical  disquisi- 
tions. It  has  been  much  in  fashion  among  moralists  since 
the  time  of  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson,  nor  was  it  an  in- 
novation introduced  by  them  ;  for  the  ancients  often  speak 
of  a  sensus  recti  et  honesti ;  and,  in  our  own  language,  a 
sense  of  duty  is  a  phrase  not  only  employed  by  philoso- 
phers, but  habitually  used  in  common  discourse.*  VJL 

••""  \\— 

VII.  Price's  Theory  of  Intuitive  Perception.]  To 
what  part  of  our  constitution,  then,  shall  we  ascribe  the 
origin  of  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  ?  Dr.  Price  (re- 
turning to  the  antiquated  phraseology  of  Cudvvorth)  says 
to  the  understanding,  and  endeavours  to  show,  in  opposi- 
tion to  Locke  and  his  followers,  that  "  the  power  which 
understands,  or  the  faculty  that  discerns  truth,  is  itself  a 
source  of  new  ideas." 

This  controversy  turns  solely  on  the  meaning  of  words. 
The  origin  of  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  is  manifestly 
the  same  with  that  of  the  other  simple  ideas  already  men- 
tioned ;  and,  whether  it  be  referred  to  the  understanding 
or  not,  seems  to  be  a  matter  of  mere  arrangement,  pro- 
vided it  be  granted  that  the  words  right  and  wrong  express 
qualities  of  actions,  and  not  merely  a  power  of  exciting 
certain  agreeable  or  disagreeable  emotions  in  our  minds. 

It  may  perhaps  obviate  some  objections  against  the  lan- 
guage of  Cudworth  and  Price  to  remark,  that  the  word 
reason  is  used  in  senses  which  are  extremely  different  : 
sometimes  to  express  the  whole  of  those  powers  which 
elevate  man  above  the  brutes,  and  constitute  his  rational  na- 
ture, —  more  especially,  perhaps,  his  intellectual  powers  ; 

*  For  further  notices  of  Hutcheson  and  the  sentimental  moralists 
generally,  see  Cousin,  Cours  d1  Histoire  de  la  Philosophic  Morale  au 
XVlHe  Si&clc,  Seconde  Partie  :  Ecole  Ecossaise.  Jouffroy,  Introduction 
to  Ethics,  Lectures  XVI. -XX. ;  and  Alexander  Smith  s  Philosophy  of 
Morals,  Part  I.  Chap.  iii.  —  ED. 
17* 


198  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

sometimes  to  express  the  power  of  deduction  or  argumen- 
tation. The  former  is  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is 
used  in  common  discourse  ;  and  it  is  in  this  sense  that  it 
seems  to  be  employed  by  those  writers  who. refer  to  it  the 
origin  of  our  moral  ideas.  Their  antagonists,  on  the  other 
hand,  understand  in  general,  by  reason,  the  power  of  de- 
duction or  argumentation  ;  a  use  of  the  word  which  is  not 
unnatural,  from  the  similarity  between  the  words  reason 
and  reasoning,  but  which  is  not  agreeable  to  its  ordinary 
meaning.  "  No  hypothesis,"  says  Dr.  Campbell,  "hither- 
to invented  hath  shown  that,  by  means  of  the  discursive 
faculty,  without  the  aid  of  any  other  mental  power,  we 
could  ever  obtain  a  notion  either  of  the  beautiful  or  the 
good."*  The  remark  is  undoubtedly  true  ;  and  it  may 
be  applied  to  all  those  systems  which  ascribe  to  reason 
the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas,  if  the  expressions  '  reason ' 
and  '  discursive  faculty  '  be  used  as  synonymous.  But  if  the 
word  reason  be  used  in  a  more  general  sense  to  denote 
merely  our  rational  and  intellectual  nature,  there  does  not 
seem  to  be  much  impropriety  in  ascribing  to  it  the  origin 
of  those  simple  notions  which  are  not  excited  in  the  mind 
by  the  immediate  operation  of  the  senses,  but  which  arise 
in  consequence  of  the  exercise  of  the  intellectual  powers 
upon  their  various  objects. 

A  variety  of  intuitive  judgments  might  be  mentioned  in- 
volving simple  ideas,  which  it  is  impossible  to  trace  to  any 
origin  but  to  the  power  which  enables  us  to  form  these 
judgments.  Thus  it  is  surely  an  intuitive  truth,  that  the 
sensations  of  which  I  am  conscious,  and  all  those  I  re- 
member, belong  to  one  and  the  same  being,  which  I  call 
myself.  Here  is  an  intuitive  judgment  involving  the  sim- 
ple idea  of  identity.  In  like  manner,  the  changes  which 
I  perceive  in  the  universe  impress  me  with  a  conviction 
that  some  cause  must  have  operated  to  produce  them. 
Here  is  an  intuitive  judgment  involving  the  simple  idea  of 
causation.  When  we  consider  the  adjacent  angles  made 
by  a  straight  line  standing  upon  another,  and  perceive  that 
their  sum  is  equal  to  two  right  angles,  the  judgment  we 
form  involves  the  simple  idea  of  equality.  To  say, 

*  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric,  Book  I.  Chap.  vii.  Sect.  iv. 


PRICE.  199 

therefore,  that  reason,  or  the  understanding,  is  a  source  of 
new  ideas,  is  not  so  exceptionable  a  mode  of  speaking  as 
has  sometimes  been  supposed.  According  to  Locke,  sense 
furnishes  our  ideas,  and  reason  perceives  their  agreements 
or  disagreements  ;  whereas,  in  point  of  fact,  these  agree- 
ments or  disagreements  are  in  many  instances  simple  ideas, 
of  which  no  analysis  can  be  given,  and  of  which  the  origin 
must  therefore  be  referred  to  reason,  according  to  Locke's 
own  doctrine. 

In  speaking  of  the  hypothesis  of  a  moral  sense,  I  for- 
merly observed  that  the  expression  was  sanctioned  by  the 
example  of  the  ancients.  The  same  authority  may  be 
appealed  to  in  justification  of  the  language  used  by  Cud- 
worth  and  Price,  whose  ideas  on  the  subject  seem  indeed 
to  be  still  more  conformable  to  the  spirit  of  the  Greek  phi- 
losophy. The  leading  principle  of  action,  TO  q/t/tjovtxoy, 
for  example,  so  much  insisted  on  by  Plato  and  others, 
was  plainly  considered  by  them  as  the  faculty  of  reason  ; 
TO  tpvast  dsanonxov  roviiau  TO  IO/KJTIXOV,  says  Alcinous,  De 
Doctrina  Platonis.*  In  Plato's  Thecetetus,  too,  Socrates 
observes,  "  that  it  cannot  be  .any  of  the  powers  of  sense 
that  compares  the  perceptions  of  all  the  senses,  and  ap- 
prehends the  general  affections  of  things,  and  particularly 
identity,  number,  similitude,  dissimilitude,  equality,  in- 
equality, to  which  he  adds  xalov  xal  alaxqov,  virtue  and 
vice  ;  asserting  that  this  power  is  reason,  or  the  soul  act- 
ing by  itself  separately  from  matter,  and  independently  of 
any  corporeal  impressions  and  passions  ;  and  that,  conse- 
quently, in  opposition  to  Protagoras,  knowledge  is  not  to 
be  sought  for  in  sense,  but  in  this  superior  part  of  the 
soul.  It  seems  to  me,  that,  for  the  perception  of  these 
things,  a  different  organ  or  faculty  is  not  appointed,  but 
that  the  soul  itself,  and  in  virtue  of  its  own  power,  ob- 
serves these  general  affections  of  all  things.  So  far  we 
have  advanced  as  to  find  that  knowledge  is  by  no  means 
to  be  sought  in  sense,  but  in  the  power  of  the  soul  which 
it  employs,  when  within  itself  it  contemplates  and  searches 
out  truth."  f 

*  Cap.  XXVIII.  "  Sovereignty  belongs  by  nature  to  the  reasoning 
faculty." 

t  Piato  could  hardly  have  expressed  himself  with  greater  precision, 


200  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

VIII.  The  Theory  which  we  adopt  must  maintain  the 
Reality  and  Immutability  of  Moral  Distinctions.]  The 
opinion  we  form,  however,  on  this  point,  is  of  little  mo- 
had  he  been  arguing  against  Hutcheson's  doctrine  of  a  moral  sense. 
See  on  this  subject  Cudworth's  Immutable  Morality,  Book  III.,  and 
Price's  Review  uf  the  Principal  Questions  and  Difficulties  in  Morals, 
Chap.  I.  Sect.  ii. 

[For  the  argument  in  the  text,  it  is  only  necessary  to  mark  the  points 
of  difference  which  distinguish  the  truths  of  the  pure  or  intuitive  reason 
from  those  of  the  discursive  reason,  or  reasoning. 

1.  The  f< >rmer  are  simple  and  elementary  judgments.     They  consti- 
tute a  portion  of  what  may  be  called  the  data  of  intelligence,  resem- 
bling, in  this  respect,  the  data  of  sensation  and  consciousness.     They 
result  immediately  from  a  law  of  our  cognitive  faculties,  from  our  original 
constitution  as  rational  beings,  and  therefore  may  be  regarded,  in  this 
sense,  as  primitive  or  innate. 

2.  They  are  also  recognized,  assumed,  or  assented  to,  as  soon  as  we 
have  occasion  to  apply  them,  or  as  soon  as  the  propositions  containing 
them  are  understood.     They  are  not  derived  truths,  either  by  induction 
or  deduction  ;  they  do  not  depend  on  testimony,  or  memory,  or  expe- 
rience of  any  kind.     All  that  experience  does  for  them  is  to  bring  about 
the  occasions  and  the  measure  of  development  on  condition  of  which 
they  spring  up  in  the  mind  itself.     They  neither  require  nor  admit  of 
proof:  reason  asserts  them  as  being  self-evident;  and,  as  such,  they  are 
acted  on   and  assented  to,  in  proportion  as  reason   is  unfolded,  by  all 
men.     In  this  sense,  therefore,  they  may  be  pronounced  universal. 

3.  Again,  reason  not  only  affirms  that  these  primitive  and  universal 
judgments  are  true,  but,  taking  for  granted  the  veracity  of  our  cognitive 
faculties,  that  they  cannot  not  be  true.     They  relate  to  realities  which 
cannot  be  made  the  objects  of  sense  or  consciousness,  and  consequently 
we  cannot  imagine  what  they  are  ;  nevertheless,  the  objects  of  sense 
and  consciousness,  as  apprehended  by  the  reason,  necessarily  presuppose 
these  realities.     These  objects  do  not  contain  them,  but  reason  sees  that 
they  presuppose  them.     In  words  we  may  deny  that  qualities  presuppose 
a  substance  or  substratum,  in  which  they  inhere,  or  that  body  presup- 
poses space,  which  it  measures  and  fills;  but  we  are  so  far  from  being 
able  actually  to  believe  in  the  negative  of  these  propositions,  that  we 
cannot  bring  ourselves  by  any  effort  to  conceive  of  it  as  being  possible. 
Hence,  we  conclude  that  the  truths  of  the  pure  or  intuitive  reason  are 
not  only  primitive  and  universal,  but  necessary. 

Now  the  Rational  School  of  moralists,  represented  by  such  writers  as 
Cudworth  and  Price,  maintain  that  morality  has  its  foundation  in  truths 
of  this  description,  and  not,  as  is  held  by  the  Sentimental  School,  rep- 
resented by  such  writers  as  Hutcheson  and  Hume,  in  facts  of  sensibility, 
or  in  purely  instinctive  phenomena. 

For  more  recent  authorities  on  this  subject,  see  Cousin,  Sur  le  Fan- 
dement  des  Iddcs  Msolues  du  Vrai,  du  Beav,  et  du  Bien.  Bouillier, 
Theorie  de  la  Raison  Impersannclle..  Coleridge's  Aids  to  Reflection;  par- 
ticularly his  comment  on  the  eighth  of  the  Aphorisms  on  that  which  is 
indeed  Spiritual  Religion.  W  he  well's  Philosophy  of  the  Inductive  Sciences, 
Book  I. 

Jouffroy  hfis  given,  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Lectures  XXI.  -  XXIII.,  an 
admirable  criticism  on  Price,  and  other  rational  moralists  of  the  same 
school,  including  Cudworth  and  Stewart.] 


IMMUTABILITY    OF    MORAL,    DISTINCTIONS.  201 

ment,  provided  it  be  granted  that  the  words  right  and 
u'rong  express  qualities  of  actions.  When  I  say  of  an 
act  of  justice  that  it  is  right,  do  I  mean  merely  that  the 
act  excites  pleasure  in  my  mind,  as  a  particular  color 
pleases  my  eye,  in  consequence  of  a  relation  which  it 
bears  to  my  organ  ?  or  do  I  mean  to  assert  a  truth  which 
is  as  independent  of  my  constitution  as  the  equality  of  the 
three  angles  of  a  triangle  to  two  right  angles  ?  Skepticism 
may  be  indulged  in  both  cases,  about  mathematical  and 
about  moral  truth,  but  in  neither  case  does  it  admit  of  a 
refutation  by  argument. 

For  my  own  part,  I  can  as  easily  conceive  a  rational 
being  so  formed  as  to  believe  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle 
to  be  equal  to  one  right  angle,  as  to  believe  that,  if  he  had 
it  in  his  power,  it  would  be  right  to  sacrifice  the  happiness 
of  other  men  to  the  gratification  of  his  own  animal  appe- 
tites, or  that  there  would  be  no  injustice  in  depriving  an 
industrious  old  man  of  the  fruits  of  his  own  laborious  ac- 
quisitions. The  exercise  of  our  reason  in  the  two  cases 
is  very  different ;  but  in  both  cases  we  have  a  perception 
of  truth,  and  are  impressed  with  an  irresistible  conviction 
that  the  truth  is  immutable,  and  independent  of  the  will  of 
any  being  whatever. 

In  the  passage  which  was  formerly  quoted  from  Dr. 
Cudworth,  mention  is  made  of  various  authors,  particularly 
among  the  theologians  of  the  scholastic  ages,  who  were 
led  to  call  in  question  the  immutability  of  moral  distinc- 
tions by  the  pious  design  of  magnifying  the  perfections  of 
the  Deity.  I  am  sorry  to  observe  that  these  notions  are 
not  as  yet  completely  exploded  ;  and  that,  in  our  own  age, 
they  have  misled  the  speculations  of  some  writers  of  con- 
siderable genius,  particularly  those  of  Dr.  Johnson,  Soame 
Jenyns,  and  Dr.  Paley.  Such  authors  certainly  do  not 
recollect,  that  what  they  add  to  the  Divine  power  and 
majesty  they  take  away  from  his  moral  attributes  ;  for  if 
moral  distinctions  be  not  immutable  and  eternal,  it  is 
absurd  to  speak  of  the  goodness  or  of  the  justice  of  God. 
"  Whoever  thinks,"  says  Shaftesbury,  "  that  there  is  a 
God,  and  pretends  formally  to  believe  that  he  is  just  and 
good,  must  suppose  that  there  is  independently  such  a 
thing  as  justice  and  injustice,  truth  and  falsehood,  right 


202  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

and  wrong,  according  to  which  eternal  and  immutable 
standards  he  pronounces  that  God  is  just,  righteous,  and 
true.  If  the  mere  will,  decree,  or  law  of  God  be  said 
absolutely  to  constitute  right  and  wrong-,  then  are  these 
latter  words  of  no  signification  at  all  [when  applied  to 
him]."* 

In  justice,  indeed,  to  one  of  the  writers  above  mention- 
ed, Dr.  Paley,  it  is  proper  for  me  to  observe,  that  the 
objection  just  now  stated  has  not  escaped  his  attention, 
and  that  he  has  even  attempted  an  answer  to  it ;  but  it  is 
an  answer  in  which  he  admits  the  justness  of  the  inference 
which  we  have  drawn  from  his  premises  :  or,  in  other 
words,  in  which  he  admits,  that,  to  speak  of  the  moral 
attributes  of  God,  or  to  say  that  he  is  just,  righteous,  and 
true,  is  to  employ  words  which  are  altogether  nugatory  and 
unmeaning.  That  I  may  not  be  accused  of  misinterpret- 
ing the  doctrine  of  this  ingenious  writer,  who  on  many 
accounts  deserves  the  popularity  he  enjoys,  I  shall  quote 
his  own  statement  of  his  opinion  on  this  subject.  "  Since 
moral  obligation  depends,  as  we  have  seen,  upon  the  will 
of  God,  right,  which  is  correlative  to  it,  must  depend 
upon  the  same.  Right  therefore  signifies  consistency  with 
the  will  of  God. 

"  But  if  the  Divine  will  determine  the  distinction  of 
right  and  wrong,  what  else  is  it  but  an  identical  proposi- 
tion to  say  of  God  that  he  acts  right  ?  or  how  is  it  possi- 
ble even  to  conceive  that  he  should  act  wrong  ?  Yet  these 
assertions  are  intelligible  and  significant.  The  case  is  this  : 
by  virtue  of  the  two  principles,  that  God  wills  the  happi- 
ness of  his  creatures,  and  that  the  will  of  God  is  the  meas- 
ure of  right  and  wrong,  we  arrive  at  certain  conclusions, 
which  conclusions  become  rules  ;  and  we  soon  learn  to 
pronounce  actions  right  and  wrong  according  as  they 
agree  or  disagree  with  our  rules,  without  looking  further  ; 
and  when  the  habit  is  once  established  of  stopping  at  the 
rules,  we  can  go  back  and  compare  with  these  rules  even 
the  Divine  conduct  itself ;  and  yet  it  may  be  true,  (only 
not  observed  by  us  at  the  time,)  that  the  rules  themselves 
are  deduced  from  the  Divine  will."  f 

*  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,  Part  III.  Sect.  ii. 

t  Moral  Philosophy,  Book  II.  Chap.  ix.     When  Dr.  Paley  first  ap- 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VIRTUE.  203 

To  this  very  extraordinary  passage,  (some  parts  of  which 
I  confess  I  do  not  completely  comprehend,  but  which 
plainly  gives  up  the  moral  attributes  of  God  as  a  form  of 
words  that  convey  no  meaning,)  I  have  no  particular  an- 
swer to  offer.  That  it  was  written  with  the  purest  inten- 
tions, and  from  the  complete  conviction  of  the  author's 
own  mind,  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  from  the  general  scope 
of  his  book,  as  well  as  from  the  strong  testimony  of  the 
first  names  in  England  in  favor  of  the  worth  of  the  writer  ; 
but  it  leads  to  consequences  of  the  most  alarming  nature, 
coinciding  in  every  material  respect  with  the  systems  of 
those  scholastic  theologians  whom  Dr.  Cudvvorth  classes 
with  the  Epicurean  philosophers  of  old,  and  whose  errors 
that  great  and  excellent  writer  has  refuted  with  so  splendid 
a  display  of  learning,  and  such  irresistible  force  of  argu- 
ment.* 

SECTION    II. 

OF  THE  AGREEABLE  AND  DISAGREEABLE  EMOTIONS  ARISING 
FROM  THE  PERCEPTION  OF  WHAT  IS  RIGHT  AND  WRONG 
IN  CONDUCT. 

I.  Moral  Beauty  and  Deformity.]  It  is  impossible 
to  behold  a  good  action  without  being  conscious  of  a  be- 
nevolent affection,  either  of  love  or  of  respect,  towards 
the  agent ;  and  consequently,  as  all  our  benevolent  affec- 
tions include  an  agreeable  feeling,  every  good  action  must 

peared  as  an  author,  his  reading  on  ethical  subjects  seems  to  me  to  have 
been  extremely  limited,  and  to  have  extended  little  farther  than  to  the 
works  of  that  ingenious  and  well-meaning,  but  fanciful  and  superficial 
writer,  Abraham  Tucker,  author,  under  the  fictitious  name  of  Edward 
Search,  Esq.,  of  The  Light  of  Nature  Pursued.  See  the  preface  to  the 
Moral,  Philosophy.  The  political  part  of  Paley's  book,  although  by  no 
means  unexceptionable,  displays  talents  so  far  superior  to  the  moral,  that 
one  would  scarcely  suppose  them  to  have  proceeded  from  the  same  pen. 
[John  Law,  to  whose  lather  the  book  is  dedicated,  and  who  was  him- 
self a  friend  and  fellow-tutor  of  Paley  and  afterwards  Bishop  of  Elphin 
in  Ireland,  is  said  to  have  assisted  in  the  composition  of  the  work,  and 
to  have  written  the  whole  of  the  admirable  chapter,  Of  Reverencing  the 
Deity.  Dyer's  Privileges  of  Cambridge,  Vol.  II.  p.  59.] 

*  Even  Wardlaw,  though  he  rejects  Butler's  doctrine  respecting  a 
natural  conscience  in  man,  strenuou.-ly  opposes  those  who  malce  moral 
distinctions  depend  on  the  will  of  God.  Christian  Ethics,  Lecture  VI.; 
See  also  Upham's  Mental  Philosophy,  Vol.  II.  §  292  etseq.  —  ED. 


204  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

be  a  source  of  pleasure  to  the  spectator.  Besides  this, 
other  agreeable  feelings,  of  order,  of  utility,  of  peace  of 
mind,  &c.,  come,  in  process  of  time,  to  be  associated 
with  the  general  idea  of  virtuous  conduct. 

Those  qualities  in  good  actions  which  excite  agreeable 
feelings  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator  form  what  some 
moralists  have  called  the  beauty  of  virtue. 

All  this  may  be  applied,  mutatis  mutandis,  to  explain 
what  is  meant  by  the  deformity  of  vice. 

This  view  of  the  moral  faculty,  which  represents  it  as  a 
species  of  taste,  by  which  we  are  determined  to  the  love 
of  moral  excellence,  occurs  very  frequently  in  the  works 
of  the  ancients.  But  I  shall  confine  myself  at  present  to 
one  short  quotation  from  Cicero.  "  Nee  vero  ilia  parva 
vis  naturs  est  rationisque,  quod  unum  hoc  animal  sentit 
quid  sit  ordo  ;  quid  sit,  quod  deceat ;  in  factis  dictisque 
qui  modus.  Itaque  eorum  ipsorum,  quce  adspectu  sen- 
tiuntur,  nullum  aliud  animal  pulchritudinem,  venustatem, 
convenientiam  partium  sentit  ;  quam  similitudinem  nattira 
ratioque  ab  oculis  ad  animum  transferens,  multo  etiam 
magis  pulchritudinem,  constantiam,  ordinem  in  consiliis 
factisque  conservandum  putat  ;  cavetque  ne  quid  indecore, 
effeminateve  facia t ;  turn  in  omnibus  et  opinionibus  et 
factis,  ne  quid  libidinose  aut  facial  aut  cogitet :  quibus  ex 
rebus  conflatur  et  efficitur  id,  quod  quajrimus  honestum  ; 
quod,  etiam  si  nobilitatum  non  sit,  tamen  honestum  sit  ; 
quodque  vere  dicimus,  eliam,'si  a  nullo  laudetur,  natura 
esse  laudabile.  Formam  quidem  ipsam,  Marce  fili,  et 
tamquam  faciem  honesti  vides  ;  quae  si  oculis  cerneretur, 
mirabiles  amores,  ut  ait  Plato,  excitaret  sapientiae."  * 

*  De  Cyf.jLib.  I.  4,5.  "Nor  is  that  power  of  nature  and  reason  small 
which  has  given  to  man  alone  a  perception  of  order  and  propriety,  and 
a  standard  by  which  to  regulate  his  speech  and  his  actions.  Of  Ike  ob- 
jects of  sense,  no  other  animal  is  qualified  to  perceive  the  beauty,  the 
grace,  and  the  symmetry  of  parts.  But  reason  enables  man  to  make  the 
same  application  of  this  perception  of  external  nature  to  the  mind,  and 
to  observe  that  a  much  higher  beauty,  harmony,  and  order  ought  to  be 
preserved  in  designs  and  in  actions,  and  that  unbecoming  opinions  and 
dissolute  conduct  should  be  wholly  avoided.  From  this  constitution  of 
nature  arises  that  virtue  we  seek  for,  which,  however  little  distinguish- 
ed by  the  world,  is  still  virtue,  and  which,  though  none  approved,  we 
justly  affirm  to  be  of  itself  praiseworthy.  Such,  my  son  Marcus,  is  the 
form  and  character  of  virtue,  which,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Plato, 
lifit  could  be  distinguished  by  the  eye,  would  excite  a  wonderful  love  of 
wisdom.'  " 


THE    BEAUT?    OF    VIRTUE.  205 

The  same  moralists  who  have  applied  to  virtue  and  to 
vice  the  epithets  I  have  now  been  endeavouring  to  define 
have  remarked,  that,  as  in  natural  objects,  so  also  in  the 
conduct  and  characters  of  mankind,  there  are  two  different 
species  of  beauty  ;  —  the  one  what  is  properly  called 
beauty  in  the  more  limited  and  precise  acceptation  of  the 
term  ;  the  other  what  is  properly  called  grandeur  or  sub- 
limity. The  former  naturally  excites  love  toward  the 
agent,  the  latter  renders  him  an  object  of  our  admiration. 
To  the  former  class  belong  the  qualities  of  gentleness,,, 
candor,  condescension,  and  humanity.  To  the  latter,, 
magnanimity,  fortitude,  inflexible  justice,  self-command, 
contempt  of  danger  and  contempt  of  death  ;  those  qualities 
which,  as  exhibited  in  the  character  of  Cato,  formed  in 
the  judgment  of  Seneca  a  spectacle  which  Heaven  itself 
might  behold  with  pleasure.  "  Ecce  spectaculum  Deo 
dignurn,  ad  quod  respiciat  Jupiter,  suo  operi  intentus,  vir 
fortis  cum  mala  fortuna  compositus."  Illustrations  of  this 
kind  abound  in  those  writers  who  have  adopted  Shaftes- 
bury's  scheme  of  morals. 

II.  Distinguishable  from  our  Perceptions  of  Right  and 
Wrong.']  Without  deciding  at  present  on  the  propriety 
of  the  expressions  moral  beauty  and  moral  deformity,  it  is 
of  consequence  for  us  to  remark,  that  our  perception  of 
the  qualities  which  these  words  are  employed  to  denote  is 
plainly  distinguishable  from  our  perception  of  actions  as 
right  or  wrong.  The  latter  involves  a  judgment  with 
respect  to  certain  attributes  of  actions,  which  no  more  de- 
pend on  our  perception  than  the  primary  qualities  of  body 
depend  on  the  informations  we  receive  of  them  by  our  ex- 
ternal senses,  or  than  the  distinction  between  mathematical 
truth  and  falsehood  depends  on  the  conclusions  of  our  un- 
derstanding. The  words  beauty  and  deformity,  on  the 
other  hand,  have  always  a  reference  to  the  feelings  of  the 
spectator,  —  to  the  delight  or  uneasiness  which  particular 
actions  produce  on  the  mind. 

Nor  are  these  perceptions  distinguishable  from  each 
other  merely  in  theory.  The  distinct  operation  of  each 
in  producing  the  moral  sentiments  of  mankind  is  easily  dis- 
cernible by  the  most  superficial  observer  ;  for,  although 
18 


206       MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

they  are  always  in  some  degree  combined  together,  yet 
they  are  not  always  combined  in  the  same  relative  propor- 
tions. There  are  some  men  who,  with  Marcus  in  the 
play,  at  the  bare  mention  of  successful  iniquity,  are  "  tor- 
tured even  to  madness  "  ;  while  others,  whose  judgments 
with  respect  to  morality  are  equally  sound,  possess  that 
steady  and  dispassionate  temper  which 

"Can  look  on  fraud,  rebellion,  guilt,  and  Caesar, 
In  the  calm  liglit  of  mild  philosophy."  * 

The  rectitude,  therefore,  of  our  moral  judgments  is  by  no 
means  to  be  estimated  by  the  liveliness  of  the  impressions 
which  good  or  bad  actions  produce  on  the  mind.  Indeed, 
the  same  circumstances  which  contribute  to  the  accuracy 
of  the  former  have  in  some  respects  a  tendency  to  weaken 
the  latter.  These,  like  all  other  passive  impressions,  are 
rendered  more  languid  by  custom  ;  f  whereas  constant 
exercise  and  a  proper  application  of  our  intellectual  powers 
in  general  are  absolutely  necessary  to  guard  us  against  the 
various  errors  by  which  the  power  of  moral  judgment  is 
liable  to  be  perverted.  The  liveliness,  too,  of  our  moral 
feelings  depends  much  on  accidental  circumstances  ;  —  on 
constitutional  temper,  on  education,  on  early  associations, 
and,  above  all,  on  the  culture  which  the  power  of  imagina- 
tion has  received. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  reality  and  importance 
of  this  distinction,  it  has  been  but  little  attended  to  by  the 
greater  part  of  philosophers.  The  ancients  had  it  in  view 
when  they  spoke  of  the  honesturn  and  the  pulchrum,  the 
TO  Sixaiov  and  the  TO  xalov  ;  but  the  moderns  seem  in  gen- 
eral to  have  overlooked  it  almost  entirely,  some  of  them 
confining  their  attention  exclusively  to  the  one  perception, 
and  some  to  the  other.  Clarke,  for  example,  and  his  fol- 
lowers, neglecting  the  consideration  of  our  moral  feelings, 
have  treated  of  this  part  of  our  constitution  as  if  it  con- 
sisted wholly  of  a  power  of  distinguishing  between  right 
and  wrong  ;  and  hence  their  works,  how  satisfactory  so- 
ever to  the  understanding,  seldom  engage  the  imagination, 

*  Addison's  Cato,  Act.  I.  Scene  I. 

t  On  further  reflection,  this  proposition  seems  to  me  somewhat  doubt- 
ful. Perhaps  it  may  be  found  that  our  moral  impressions  form  a  singular 
exception  to  this  general  law  of  our  constitution. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF  VIRTUE.  207 

or  interest  the  heart.  Shaftesbury,  on  the  other  hand,  and 
his  numerous  admirers,  by  dwelling  exclusively  on  our 
perception  of  moral  beauty  and  deformity,  have  been  led 
into  enthusiasm  and  declamation,  and  have  furnished  licen- 
tious moralists  with  a  pretence  for  questioning  the  immu- 
tability of  moral  distinctions.  Even  Dr.  Hutcheson,  one 
of  the  ablest  and  most  judicious  of  his  disciples,  has  con- 
tented himself  with  this  partial  view  of  our  moral  constitu- 
tion. He  everywhere  describes  virtue  and  vice  by  the 
effects  accompanying  the  perception  of  them,  and  makes 
no  distinction  between  the  rectitude  of  an  action  as  ap- 
proved by  our  reason,  and  its  gratefulness  to  the  taste  of 
the  observer,  or  its  aptitude  to  excite  his  moral  emotions. 

III.  Errors  resulting  from  an  exclusive  Regard  to  the 
JMoral  Emotions.]  Another  erroneous  conclusion  of  a 
very  dangerous  tendency  has  been  suggested  by  the  doc- 
trines of  Lord  Shaftesbury's  school.  Accustomed  to  de- 
fine virtue  and  vice  by  their  agreeable  or  disagreeable 
effects  on  the  mind  of  the  spectator,  his  followers  have 
been  led  to  extend  the  meaning  of  these  words  far  beyond 
their  proper  signification  ;  and,  as  virtue  forms  always  an 
agreeable  and  vice  a  disagreeable  object  of  contempla- 
tion, they  have  concluded  that  the  converse  of  the  prop- 
osition was  equally  true,  and  that  every  thing  that  was 
agreeable  or  disagreeable  in  human  character  or  conduct 
might  be  properly  expressed  by  the  words  virtue  and  vice. 
Accordingly,  Hume,  proceeding  on  the  same  general 
principles  with  Hutcheson,  has  been  led  to  adopt  this  very 
conclusion  as  a  fundamental  truth  in  ethics,  and  even  to 
introduce  it  into  the  definition  which  he  gives  of  virtue, — 
"  virtue,"  according  to  his  theory,  "  consisting  in  the  pos- 
session of  qualities  which  are  useful  or  agreeable  to  our- 
selves or  to  others."*  That  this  definition  is  erroneous 
is  sufficiently  evident  ;  for  nothing  can  be  plainer  than  that 
the  words  virtue  and  vice  are  applicable  only  to  those 
parts  of  our  character  and  conduct  which  depend  on  our 
own  voluntary  exertions.  Sensibility,  gayety,  liveliness, 
good-humor,  natural  affection,  are  a  source  of  pleasure  to 

*  Hume's  Principles  of  Morals,  Sect.  IX.  Part  I. 


208  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

every  beholder,  and  wherever  they  are  to  be  found  en- 
title the  possessor  to  the  appellation  of  amiable  ;  but  in 
so  far  as  they  result  from  original  constitution,  or  from 
external  circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control, 
they  certainly  do  not  render  him  an  object  of  moral  ap- 
probation. 

A  further  inaccuracy  in  the  philosophy  of  Shaftesbury 
and  Hutcheson  has  arisen  from  the  same  source,  the  appli- 
cation of  the  epithets  virtuous  and  vicious  to  the  affections 
of  the  mind.  In  order  to  think  with  precision  on  this 
subject,  it  is  necessary  for  us  always  to  remember  that  the 
object  of  moral  approbation  is  not  affections,  but  actions. 
The  efforts,  indeed,  we  make  to  cultivate  our  amiable 
affections  are  in  a  high  degree  meritorious,  because  the 
object  of  the  effort  is  to  add  to  the  happiness  of  those 
with  whom  we  associate,  and  because  the  effort  depends 
upon  ourselves  ;  but  the  merit  in  such  cases  does  not 
consist  in  the  affection,  but  in  the  efforts  by  which  it  has 
been  cultivated. 

The  result  of  the  remarks  now  made  on  the  systems  of 
Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson  amounts  to  this,  that  they  do 
not  draw  the  line  sufficiently  between  constitutional  good 
qualities,  and  those  which  are  voluntary  and  meritorious. 
In  common  discourse,  indeed,  we  frequently  apply  the 
word  virtue  to  both,  but  it  is  the  last  alone  which  in  strict 
propriety  deserves  the  name  :  and,  in  our  own  case,  it  is  of 
great  consequence  for  us  to  attend  to  the  distinction.  In 
the  case  of  others,  as  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  draw  the 
line,  and  as  the  tendency  of  our  nature  is  rather  to  think 
too  unfavorably  of  our  neighbours,  it  may  be  the  safest 
rule  to  consider  every  action  as  meritorious  which  can  be 
supposed,  by  any  reasonable  or  plausible  interpretation,  to 
have  probably,  or  even  possibly,  proceeded  from  a  virtuous 
motive.  The  author  of  the  Man  of  Feeling,  among  the 
many  beautiful  features  in  the  character  of  Harley,  has 
not  failed  to  remark  this  candid  and  amiable  disposition. 
"  Her  benevolence,"  (he  is  speaking  of  his  heroine,  Miss 
Walton,)  "was  unbounded.  Indeed,  the  natural  tender- 
ness of  her  heart  might  have  been  argued  by  the  frigidity 
of  a  casuist  as  detracting  from  her  virtue  in  this  respect, 
for  her  humanity  was  a  feeling,  not  a  principle.  But 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VIRTUE.  209 

minds  like  Harley's  are  not  very  apt  to  make  this  distinc- 
tion, and  generally  give  our  virtue  credit  for  all  that  be- 
nevolence which  is  instinctive  in  our  nature." 

In  offering  these  criticisms  on  the  writings  of  Shaftes- 
bury  and  Hutcheson,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  detract 
from  their  merits.  I  am  fully  sensible  of  the  infinite  ser- 
vice they  have  rendered  to  this  branch  of  science,  by 
rescuing  it  from  the  hands  of  monks  and  casuists,  and  re- 
storing it  to  its  ancient  honors.  The  enthusiasm  with 
which  both  of  them  have  painted  the  charms  of  moral  ex- 
cellence, while  it  delights  the  imagination  and  exalts  the 
taste,  is  admirably  calculated  to  lay  hold  of  the  generous 
affections  of  youth,  and  to  kindle  in  their  breasts  the  glow 
of  virtue.  The  Rhapsody  of  Shaftesbury  in  particular, 
whatever  the  blemishes  in  point  of  taste  (and  they  are 
many)  which  a  critical  reader  may  find  in  it,  will  remain 
for  ever  a  monument  to  the  powers  of  his  genius,  as  well 
as  to  the  purity  and  elevation  of  his  mind.  It  is  in  general 
free  from  the  reprehensible  sentiments  which  have  given 
so  much  just  offence  in  some  of  his  earlier  publications, 
and  well  merits  the  encomium  which  Thomson  has  be- 
stowed on  it  in  his  enumeration  of  the  illustrious  names 
which  have  adorned  the  literary  history  of  England. 

"The  generous  Ashley  thine!  the  friend  of  man, 
Who  scanned  his  nature  with  a  brother's  eye, 
His  weakness  prompt  to  shade, —  to  raise  his  aim, 
To  touch  the  finer  movements  of  the  mind, 
And  with  the  moral  beauty  charm  the  heart." 

Still,  however,  I  must  again  repeat,  that  it  is  chiefly  on 
account  of  their  practical  tendency  that  I  would  recom- 
mend these  two  eminent  writers  ;  and  that,  in  order  to 
guard  ourselves  against  the  cavils  of  skeptics,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  look  out  for  a  more  solid  foundation  to  morality 
than  their  philosophy  supplies. 

IV.  Whether  all  Beauty  depends  on  its  being  Signifi- 
cant or  Suggestive  of  Mental  Qualities.]  I  must  not 
leave  this  subject  of  moral  beauty,  without  taking  some 
notice  of  a  speculation  with  respect  to  it,  which  formed 
one  of  the  favorite  doctrines  of  the  Socratic  school,  and 
which  Shaftesbury  and  some  other  modern  writers  have 
18* 


210  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

attempted  to  revive.  In  the  observations  I  have  hitherto 
made,  I  have  proceeded  on  the  supposition,  that  the 
words  beauty  and  sublimity  are  applied  to  actions  and 
characters  metaphorically,  or  from  an  analogy  between  the 
emotions  which  certain  moral  qualities  and  certain  material 
objects  produce  in  the  mind.  This,  which  is  certainly 
the  more  obvious  and  the  more  common  doctrine,  seems 
to  have  been  adopted  by  Cicero  in  the  passage  which  I 
have  already  quoted.  And  as  the  opinion  we  form  con- 
cerning it  has  no  connection  with  any  of  the  inquiries  in 
which  we  have  just  been  engaged,  I  was  unwilling  to  dis- 
tract the  attention  by  mentioning  any  other.  The  philoso- 
phers now  referred  to  have  adopted  a  conclusion  directly 
opposite  to  this,  and  have  maintained  that  the  words  beauty 
and  sublimity  express,  in  their  literal  signification,  qualities 
of  mind  ;  and  that  material  objects  affect  us  in  this  way 
only  by  means  of  the  moral  ideas  they  suggest.  For  my 
own  part,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  any  thing  very  decided 
either  on  the  one  side  or  on  the  other  ;  but  I  must  confess 
that  my  present  views  rather  incline  to  the  last  of  these 
doctrines.  The  following  considerations,  in'  particular, 
seem  to  me  to  have  great  weight. 

It  is  only  in  the  case  of  our  own  minds  that  we  have  any 
direct  or  immediate  knowledge  either  of  intellectual  or 
moral  qualities.  In  the  case  of  other  men  we  know  them 
only  by  their  external  effects  ;  that  is,  either  by  the  natu- 
ral signs  of  intelligence  and  sentiment  which  we  read  in 
the  countenance,  or  by  the  information  we  derive  from 
artificial  language,  or  by  the  inferences  we  draw  from  their 
conduct  and  behaviour.  To  all  these  external  effect*,  but 
more  particularly  to  the  features  of  the  countenance,  we 
apply  the  epithet  of  beautiful.  But  I  believe  it  will  be 
found  that  this  epithet  is  applicable  to  them  only,  or  at 
least  chiefly,  in  so  far  as  they  are  significant.  Into  this 
question,  however,  when  proposed  in  general  terms,  I 
shall  not  enter  ;  nor  shall  I  take  upon  me  positively  to  say 
that  there  is  no  beauty  in  certain  combinations  of  com- 
plexion and  features,  abstracted  from  any  particular  mean- 
ing. It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose,  if  it  be  granted  that 
the  beauty  of  the  human  face  consists  chiefly  in  its  expres- 
sion ;  and  about  this  it  is  impossible  there  can  beany  con- 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VIRTUE.  211 

troversy.  The  human  face,  therefore,  it  would  appear, 
is  beautiful  chiefly  as  it  presents  to  our  conceptions  the 
qualities  of  mind. 

The  same  observation  is  applicable  very  nearly  to  the 
material  universe  in  general.  The  pleasurable  emotion 
it  excites  in  the  mind  of  the  peasant  or  mechanic  is  ex- 
tremely trifling  ;  but  to  those  whose  understandings  have 
received  such  a  degree  of  cultivation  as  to  be  enabled  to 
read  in  it  the  characters  of  power,  wisdom,  and  goodness, 
how  sublime,  how  beautiful,  does  it  appear  !  Even  in  the 
case  of  particular  objects,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
beauty  of  order  and  uniformity  does  not  arise  partly  from 
some  obscure  suggestion  of  design  and  intelligence.  I  say 
partly,  because,  independent  of  any  such  considerations, 
order  and  uniformity  please  from  the  aids  they  afford  to 
our  powers  of  comprehension  and  memory.  If  these  ob- 
servations are  well  founded,  it  will  follow  that  it  is  mind 
alone  that  possesses  original  and  underived  beauty  ;  and 
that  what  we  call  the  beauty  of  the  material  world  is  chiefly, 
if  not  wholly,  reflected  from  intellectual  and  moral  quali- 
ties ;  as  the  light  we  admire  on  the  disk  of  the  moon  and 
planets  is,  when  traced  to  its  original  source,  the  light  of 
the  sun.  The  exclamation,  therefore,  of  the  poet  in  the 
following  lines  would  appear,  notwithstanding  the  enthu- 
siasm which  animates  it,  to  be  strictly  and  philosophically 
just. 

"Mind,  mind  alone, — bear  witness  earth  and  Heaven!  — 
The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  and  sublime.     Here  hand  in  hand 
Sit  paramount  the  graces.     Here  enthroned, 
Celestial  Venus,  with  divinest  airs, 
Invites  the  soul  to  never-fading  joy."* 

If  with  these  doctrines  of  the  Socratic  school  we  com- 
bine the  fine  and  philosophical  speculations  of  Mr.  Alison 
with  respect  to  the  effect  of  association,  they  will  be  found 
to  add  greatly  to  the  evidence  of  the  general  conclusion. 
Perhaps  it  may  appear  to  some  that  the  former  specula- 
tions are  resolvable  into  the  latter.  This,  however,  is  not 
the  case  ;  for  the  former  relate  to  natural  signs ;  the 
latter  to  arbitrary  connections  established  in  the  mind  by 

*  Akenside,  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  Book  I. 


212  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

habit.  In  the  mind  of  the  philosopher  (for  example)  who 
traces  in  the  universe  the  signatures  of  the  Divine  perfec- 
tions, the  beauties  he  contemplates  cannot,  with  propriety, 
be  referred  to  association,  any  more  than  the  charms  of  a 
beautiful  face  the  first  time  it  is  seen.  But  in  a  mind 
conversant  with  poetry,  to  which  every  object  in  nature 
recalls  a  thousand  agreeable  images,  a  great  part  of  the 
pleasing  effect  must  be  referred  to  this  source.  Even 
here,  however,  association  operates  in  a  manner  which 
illustrates  and  confirms  the  general  theory,  inasmuch  as  it 
produces  its  effect  by  making  objects  more  significant  than 
they  were  before  ;  or,  in  other  words,  by  rendering  them 
the  occasions  of  our  conceiving  intellectual  and  moral 
beauties,  of  which  they  are  not  naturally  expressive.* 

Whatever  opinion  we  adopt  on  this  speculative  question, 
there  can  be  no  dispute  about  the  fact,  that  good  actions 
and  virtuous  characters  form  the  most  delightful  of  all  ob- 
jects to  the  human  mind  ;  and  that  there  are  no  charms  in 
the  external  universe  so  powerful  as  those  which  recom- 
mend to  us  the  cultivation  of  the  qualities  that  constitute 
the  perfection  and  the  happiness  of  our  nature. 

"Look,  then,  abroad  through  nature,  to  the  range 
Of  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres, 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense, 
And  speak,  O  man !  does  this  capacious  scene, 
With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 
Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  Brutus  rose, 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Ctesar's  fate, 
Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots;  and,  his  arm 
Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove 
When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  called  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 
And  bade  the  father  of  his  country,  Hail  ! 
For,  lo  !  the  tyrant  prostrate  in  the  dust, 
And  Rome  again  is  free?     Is  aught  so  fair, 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  spring, 
In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper  or  the  morn, 
In  nature's  fairest  forms,  is  aught  so  fair 
As  virtuous  friendship  ?  as  the  candid  blush 
Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  to  be  just? 
The  graceful  tear  that  streams  for  others'  woes  ? 
Or  the  mild  majesty  of  private  life, 
Where  peace  with  ever-blooming  olive  crowns 

*  See  the  profound  and  eloquent  reflections  with  which  Mr.  Alison 
concludes  the  first  chapter  of  his  admirable  Essays  on  the  Mature  and 
Principles  of  Taste. 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    VIRTUE.  213 

The  gate,  where  honor's  liberal  hands  effuse 
Unenvied  treasures,  and  the  snowy  wings 
Of  innocence  and  love  protect  the  scene?"* 

V.  Use  to  be  made  of  this  Connection  between  Natural 
and  Moral  Beauty.']  It  is  no  less  evident  that  these  two 
kinds  of  taste,  (that  for  natural  and  that  for  moral  beauty,) 
if  not  ultimately  resolvable  into  the  same  principles,  are  at 
least  very  nearly  allied,  or  very  closely  connected  ;  inso- 
much that  every  author  who  has  treated  professedly  of 
the  one  has  been  insensibly  led  to  illustrate  his  subject  by 
frequent  references  to  the  other.  Hence  in  poetry  the 
natural  and  pleasing  union  of  those  pictures  which  recall 
to  us  the  charms  of  external  nature,  and  that  moral  paint- 
ing which  affects  and  delights  the  heart.  The  intentions 
of  nature,  in  thus  associating  the  ideas  of  the  beautiful 
and  the  good,  cannot  be  mistaken.  Much,  I  am  persuad- 
ed, might  be  done  by  a  judicious  system  of  education,  i 
following  out  the  plan  which  Nature  has  herself,  in  this  in- 
stance, so  manifestly  traced  ;  as  we  find,  indeed,  was  done 
to  a  very  great  degree  in  those  ancient  schools,  who  con- 
sidered it  as  the  most  important  of  all  objects  to  establish 
such  a  union  between  philosophy  and  the  fine  arts  as  might 
add  to  the  natural  beauty  of  Virtue  every  attraction  which 
the  imagination  could  give  her. 

It  would  be  improper  to  bring  this  subject  to  a  conclu- 
sion without  mentioning  the  attempt  which  Mr.  Hume  has 
made  to  show  that  what  we  call  the  beauty  of  virtue  is  the 
beauty  of  utility.  For  a  particular  examination  and  ref- 
utation of  this  opinion,  I  refer  the  reader  to  Mr.  Smith's 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.  Although,  however,  Mr. 
Smith  differs  from  Mr.  Hume  in  thinking  that  virtue 
pleases  because  we  consider  it  to  be  useful,  he  agrees  with 
him  that  all  those  qualities  which  we  consider  as  amiable 
or  agreeable  are  really  useful  either  to  ourselves  or  to 
others.  In  this  respect  their  conclusions  coincide  with 
the  doctrines  of  the  Socratic  school,  and  afford  additional 
evidence  of  the  beneficent  solicitude  with  which  Nature 
allures  us  to  the  practice  of  our  duty.  "  Do  you  imagine," 
says  Socrates  to  Aristippus,  "  that  what  is  good  is  not 

*  Akenside,  Book  I. 


214       MORAL  PERCEPTIONS  AND  EMOTIONS. 

beautiful  ?  Have  you  not  observed  that  these  appear- 
ances always  coincide  ?  Virtue,  for  instance,  in  the  same 
respect  as  to  which  we  call  it  good,  is  ever  acknowledged 
to  be  beautiful  also.  In  the  character  we  always  join 
the  two  denominations  together.*  The  beauty  of  human 
bodies  corresponds,  in  like  manner,  with  that  economy  of 
parts  which  constitutes  them  good  ;  and  in  every  circum- 
stance of  life  the  same  object  is  constantly  accounted  both 
beautiful  and  good,  inasmuch  as  it  answers  the  purposes 
for  which  it  is  designed."! 


SECTION  III. 

OF    THE    PERCEPTION    OF    MERIT    AND    DEMERIT. 

I.  Origin  and  Use  of  Ideas  of  Merit  and  Demerit  .] 
The  various  actions  performed  by  other  men  not  only 
excite  in  our  minds  a  benevolent  affection  towards  them, 
or  a  disposition  to  promote  their  happiness,  but  impress  us 
with  a  sense  of  the  merit  of  the  agents.  We  perceive 
them  to  be  the  proper  objects  of  love  and  esteem,  and 
that  it  is  morally  right  that  they  should  receive  their  re- 
ward. We  feel  ourselves  called  on  to  make  their  worth 
known  to  the  world,  in  order  to  procure  them  the  favor 
and  respect  they  deserve  ;  and  if  we  allow  it  to  remain 
secret  we  are  conscious  of  injustice  in  suppressing  the 
natural  language  of  the  heart. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  are  witnesses  of  an  act  of 
selfishness,  of  cruelty,  or  of  oppression,  whether  ice  our- 
selves are  sufferers  or  no£,  we  are  not  only  inspired  with 
aversion  and  hatred  towards  the  delinquent,  but  find  it  dif- 
ficult to  restrain  our  indignation  from  breaking  loose  against 
him.  By  this  natural  impulse  of  the  rnind  a  check  is  im- 
posed on  the  bad  passions  of  individuals,  and  a  provision 
is  made  even  before  the  establishment  of  positive  laws  for 
the  good  order  of  society. 

In  our  own  case,  how  delightful  are  our  feelings  when 
we  are  conscious  of  doing  well  ?  By  a  species  of  instinct 


*  By  the  words  KaXoicdyaQos  and 

t  Xenoph.  Memorab.,  Lib.  III.  c.  8.     The  translation  is  Akenside's. 


MERIT    AND    DEMERIT.  215 

we  know  ourselves  to  be  the  object  of  the  esteem  and  at- 
tachment of  our  fellow-creatures,  and  we  feel,  with  the 
evidence  of  a  perception,  that  Heaven  smiles  on  our 
labors,  and  that  we  enjoy  the  approbation  and  favor  of 
the  Invisible  Witness  of  our  conduct.  Hence  it  is  that  we 
not  only  have  a  sense  of  merit,  but  an  anticipation  of  re- 
ward, and  look  forward  to  the  future  with  increased  con- 
fidence and  hope.  Nor  is  this  confidence  weakened,  pro- 
vided we  retain  our  integrity  unshaken  by  the  strokes  of 
adverse  fortune,  but,  on  the  contrary,  we  feel  it  increase 
in  proportion  to  the  efforts  that  we  have  occasion  to  make  ; 
and  even  in  the  moment  of  danger  and  of  death  it  exhorts 
us  to  persevere,  and  assures  us  that  all  will  be  finally  well 
with  us.  Hence  the  additional  heroism  of  the  brave  when 
they  draw  the  sword  in  a  worthy  cause.  They  feel  them- 
selves animated  with  tenfold  strength,  relying  on  the  suc- 
cor of  an  invisible  arm,  and  seeming  to  trust,  while  em- 
ployed in  promoting  the  beneficent  purposes  of  Provi- 
dence, "  that  guardian  angels  combat  on  their  side."  Al- 
though, however,  this  sense  of  merit  which  accompanies 
the  performance  of  good  actions  convinces  the  philosopher 
of  the  connection  which  the  Deity  has  established  between 
virtue  and  happiness,  he  does  not  proceed  on  the  supposi- 
tion, that  on  particular  occasions  miraculous  interpositions 
are  to  be  made  in  his  favor.  That  virtue  is  the  most 
direct  road  to  happiness  he  sees  to  be  the  case  even  in 
this  world  ;  but  he  knows  that  the  Deity  governs  by  gen- 
eral laws  ;  and  when  he  feels  himself  disappointed  in  the 
attainment  of  his  wishes,  he  acquiesces  in  his  lot,  and 
looks  forward  with  hope  to  futurity.  It  is  an  error  of  the 
vulgar  to  expect  that  good  or  bad  fortune  is,  even  in  this 
world,  to  be  the  immediate  consequence  of  good  or  bad  ac- 
tions, —  a  prejudice  of  which  we  may  trace  the  influence 
in  all  ages  and  nations,  but  more  particularly  in  times  of 
superstition  and  ignorance.  From  this  error  arose  the 
practices  of  judicial  combat,  and  of  trial  by  ordeal,  both  of 
which  formerly  prevailed  in  this  part  of  the  world,  and  of 
which  the  latter  (as  appears  from  the  Asiatic  Researches) 
kept  its  ground  in  Hindostan  as  late  as  1784,*  and  prob- 

*  "  In  the  code  of  the  Gentoo  laws  mention  is  made  of  the  trial  by 


216  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

ably  keeps  its  ground  at  this  day.  Absurd  as  these  ideas 
are,  they  show  strongly  how  natural  to  the  human  mind 
are  the  sentiments  now  under  consideration ;  for  this 
belief  of  the  connection  between  virtue  and  good  fortune, 
has  plainly  taken  its  rise  from  the  natural  connection  be- 
tween the  ideas  of  virtue  and  merit,  a  connection  which, 
we  may  rest  assured,  is  agreeable  to  the  general  laws  by 
which  the  universe  is  governed,  but  which  the  slightest  re- 
flection may  satisfy  us  cannot  always  correspond  with  the 
order  of  events  in  such  a  world  as  we  inhabit  at  present. 

I  am  not  certain  but  we  may  trace  something  of  the 
same  kind  in  the  sports  of  children,  who  have  all  a  notion 
that  good  fortune  in  their  games  of  chance  depends  upon 
perfect  fairness  towards  their  adversaries,  and  that  those 
are  certain  to  lose  who  attempt  to  take  secretly  any  undue 
advantage. 

"  Pueri  ludentes,  Rex  eris,  aiunt, 
Si  recte  facies."  * 

Indeed,  the  moral  perceptions  (although  frequently  misap- 
plied in  consequence  of  the  weakness  of  reason  and  the 
want  of  experience)  may  be  as  distinctly  traced  in  the 
mind  at  that  time  of  life  as  ever  afterwards,  when  surely  it. 
cannot  be  supposed  that  they  are  the  result,  as  some  au- 
thors have  held,  of  a  conviction,  founded  on  actual  obser- 
vation, of  the  utility  of  virtue. f 

ordeal,  which  was  one  of  the  first  laws  instituted  by  Moses  among  the 
Jews.  See  Numbers,  Chap.  V.  Fire  or  water  were  usually  employed  ; 
but  in  India  the  mode  varies,  and  is  often  determined  by  the  choice  of 
the  parties.  I  remember  a  letter  from  a  man  of  rank,  who  was  accused 
of  corresponding  in  time  of  war  with  the  enemy,  in  which  he  says,  'Let 
my  accuser  be  produced  ;  let  me  see  him  face  to  face ;  let  the  most  ven- 
omous snakes  be  put  into  a  pot;  let  us  put  our  hands  into  it  together  ; 
let  it  be  covered  for  a  certain  time;  and  he  who  remaineth  unhurt  shall 
be  innocent.' 

"  This  trial  is  always  accompanied  with  the  solemnities  of  a  religious 
ceremony."  — Crawford's  Sketches  of  the  Hindoos,  p.  298. 

*  Horat.  Epist.  Lib.  I.  Ep.  1.  59. 

"  Let  children  sing 
Amid  their  sports,  '  Do  right  and  be  a  king.'  " 

t  Cousin  expresses  clearly  and  forcibly  his  vrew  of  the  connection 
between  merit  and  demerit  and  the  rewards  and  punishments  rightfully 
inflicted  by  society.  Histoire  de  la  Philosophic  du  XVHIe-  Si£cle,  Vingti- 
eme  Leqon.  We  copy  a  single  paragraph  from  Professor  Henry's 
excellent  translation,  Elements  of  Psychology,  Chap.  V. :  —  "Without 


MERIT    AND    DEMERIT.  217 

II.  How  to  guard  against  Self -deceit.]  I  shall  con- 
clude this  subject  with  again  recalling  to  the  attention  of 
the  reader  a  very  remarkable  fact  formerly  stated,  that  our 

any  doubt,  it  is  useful  to  society  to  inflict  contempt  upon  the  violator  of 
moral  order;  without  doubt,  it  is  useful  to  society  to  punish  effectually 
the  individual  who  attacks  the  foundations  of  social  order.  This  con- 
sideration of  utility  is  real;  it  is  weighty;  but  I  say  that  it  is  not  the 
first,  that  it  is  only  accessory,  and  that  the  immediate  basis  of  all  penalty 
is  the  idea  of  the  essential  merit  and  demerit  of  actions,  —  the  general 
idea  of  order,  which  imperiously  demands  that  the  merit  and  demerit  of 
actions,  which  is  a  law  of  reason  and  of  order,  should  be  realized  in  a 
society  that  pretends  to  be  rational  and  well  ordered.  On  this  ground, 
and  on  this  ground  alone,  of  realizing  this  law  of  reason  and  of  order, 
the  two  powers  of  society,  opinion  and  government,  appear  faithful  to 
their  primary  law.  Then  comes  up  utility,  —  the  immediate  utility  of 
repressing  evil,  and  the  indirect  utility  of  preventing  it,  by  example, 
that  is,  by  fear.  But  this  consideration  has  need  of  a  basis  superior  to 
itself,  in  order  to  render  it  legitimate.  Suppose,  in  fact,  that  there  is 
nothing  good  or  evil  in  itself,  and  consequently  neither  essential  merit 
nor  demerit,  and  consequently,  again,  no  absolute  right  of  blaming  or 
punishing  ;  by  what  right,  then,  I  ask,  do  you  blame  or  disgrace  a  man, 
or  make  him  ascend  the  scaffold,  or  put  him  in  irons  for  life,/or  the  ad- 
vantage of  others ;  when  the  action  of  the  man  is  neither  good  nor  bad 
in  itself,  and  merits  in  itself  neither  blame  nor  punishment?  Suppose 
that  it  is  not  absolutely  right,  just  in  itself,  to  blame  this  man  or  to 
punish  him,  and  the  legitimacy  and  propriety  of  infamy  and  of  glory, 
and  of  every  species  of  reward  and  punishment,  are  at  an  end.  Still 
further,  I  maintain  if  punishment  has  no  other  ground  than  utility,  then 
even  its  utility  is  destroyed  ;  for  in  order  that  a  punishment  may  be  use- 
ful, it  is  requisite,  —  1st,  that  he  upon  whom  it  is  inflicted,  endowed  as 
he  is  with  the  principle  of  merit  and  demerit,  should  regard  himself  as 
justly  punished,  and  should  accept  his  punishment  with  a  suitable  dis- 
position ;  2d,  that  the  spectators,  equally  endowed  with  the  principle  of 
merit  and  demerit,  should  regard  the  culprit  as  justly  punished  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  his  crime,  and  should  apply  to  themselves  by  an- 
ticipation the  same  justice  in  case  of  crime,  and  should  be  kept  in  har- 
mony with  the  social  order  by  the  view  of  its  legitimate  penalties. 
Hence  arises  the  utility  of  examples  of  punishment,  whether  moral  or 
physical.  But  take  away  its  foundation  in  justice,  and  you  destroy  the 
utility  of  punishment ;  you  excite  indignation  and  abhorrence,  instead 
of  awakening  penitence  in  the  victim,  or  teaching  a  salutary  lesson  to 
the  public.  You  array  courage,  sympathy,  every  thing  noble  and  elevat- 
ed in  human  nature,  on  the  side  of  the  victim.  You  excite  all  energetic 
spirits  against  society  and  its  artificial  laws.  Thus  the  utility  of  punish- 
ment is  itself  grounded  in  its  justice,  instead  of  justice  being  grounded 
in  its  utility.  Punishment  is  the  sanction  of  the  law,  and  not  its  founda- 
tion. Moral  order  has  its  foundation  -not  in  punishment,  but  punish- 
ment has  its  foundation  in  moral  order.  The  idea  of  right  and  wrong 
is  grounded  only  on  itself,  on  reason  which  reveals  it.  It  is  the  condi- 
tion of  the  idea  of  merit  and  demerit  which  is  the  condition  of  the  idea 
of  reward  and  punishment ;  and  this  latter  is  to  the  two  former,  but 
especially  to  the  idea  of  right  and  wrong,  in  the  relation  of  the  conse- 
quence to  the  principle."  — ED. 

19 


218  MORAL    PERCEPTIONS    AND    EMOTIONS. 

moral  emotions  seem  to  be  stronger  with  respect  to  the 
conduct  of  others  than  our  own.  A  man  who  can  be 
guilty,  apparently  without  remorse,  of  the  most  flagrant 
injustice,  will  yet  feel  the  warmest  indignation  against  a 
similar  act  of  injustice  in  another  ;  and  the  best  of  men 
know  it  to  be  in  many  cases  a  useful  rule,  before  they  de- 
termine on  any  particular  conduct,  to  consider  how  they 
would  judge  of  the  conduct  of  another  in  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. "  Do  to  others  as  ye  would  that  they  should 
do  unto  you."  This  is  owing  to  the  influence  of  self- 
partiality  and  self-deceit.  Mr.  Smith  has  been  so  much 
struck  with  the  difference  of  our  moral  judgments  in  our 
own  case  and  in  that  of  another,  that  he  has  concluded 
conscience  to  be  only  an  application  to  ourselves  of  those 
rules  which  we  have  collected  from  observing  our  feelings 
in  cases  in  which  we  are  not  personally  concerned.  I 
shall  afterwards  state  some  objections  to  which  this  opin- 
ion is  liable. 

Were  it  not  for  the  influence  of  self-deceit,  it  could 
hardly  happen  that  a  man  should  habitually  act  in  direct 
opposition  to  his  moral  principles.  We  know,  however, 
that  this  is  but  too  frequently  the  case.  The  most  perfect 
conviction  of  the  obligation  of  virtue,  and  the  strongest 
moral  feelings,  will  be  of  little  use  in  regulating  our  con- 
duct, unless  we  are  at  pains  to  attend  constantly  to  the 
state  of  our  own  character,  and  to  scrutinize  with  the 
most  suspicious  care  the  motives  of  our  actions.  Hence 
the  importance  of  the  precept  so  much  recommended  by 
the  moralists  of  all  ages,  —  "  Know  thyself." 

These  observations  may  convince  us  still  more  of  the 
truth  of  what  I  have  elsewhere  remarked  with  respect  to 
sentimental  reading,  and  of  its  total  insufficiency  for  form- 
ing a  virtuous  character  without  many  other  precautions.* 
Where  its  effects  are  corrected  by  habits  of  business,  and 
every  instance  of  conduct  is  brought  home  by  the  reader 
to  himself,  it  may  be  a  source  of  solid  improvement ;  for 
although  strong  moral  feelings  do  by  no  means  alone  con- 
stitute virtue,  yet  they  add  to  the  satisfaction  we  derive 
from  the  discharge  of  our  duty,  and  they  increase  the  in- 
terest we  take  in  the  prosperity  of  virtue  in  the  world. 

*  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  P.  I.  Chap.  viii.  Sect.  v. 


MORAL    OBLIGATION.  219 

(J-i 

CHAPTER    IV. 

OF   MORAL   OBLIGATION. 

I.  .Ground  of  Obligation.']  According  to  some  sys- 
tems, moral  obligation  is  founded  entirely  on  our  belief 
that  virtue  is  enjoined  by  the  command  of  God.  But  how, 
it  may  be  asked,  does  this  belief  impose  an  obligation  ? 
Only  one  of  two  answers  can  be  given.  Either  that 
there  is  a  moral  fitness  that  we  should  conform  our  will  to 
that  of  the  Author  and  the  Governor  of  the  universe  ;  or 
that  a  rational  self-love  should  induce  us,  from  motives  of 
prudence,  to  study  every  means  of  rendering  ourselves  ac- 
ceptable to  the  Almighty  Arbiter  of  happiness  and  misery. 

On  the  first  supposition,  we  reason  in  a  circle.  We 
resolve  our  sense  of  moral  obligation  into  our  sense  of 
religion,  and  the  sense  of  religion  into  that  of  moral  obli- 
gation. 

The  other  system,  which  makes  virtue  a  mere  matter  of 
prudence,  although  not  so  obviously  unsatisfactory,  leads 
to  consequences  which  sufficiently  invalidate  every  argu- 
ment in  its  favor.  Among  others,  it  leads  us  to  conclude, 
1.  That  the  disbelief  of  a  future  state  absolves  from  all 
moral  obligation,  excepting  in  so  far  as  we  find  virtue  to 
be  conducive  to  our  present  interest  ;  2.  That  a  being  in- 
dependently and  completely  happy  cannot  have  any  moral 
perceptions  or  any  moral  attributes. 

But  further,  the  notions  of  reward  and  punishment  pre- 
suppose the  notions  of  right  and  wrong.  They  are  sanc- 
tions of  virtue,  or  additional  motives  to  the  practice  of 
it,  but  they  suppose  the  existence  of  some  previous  obli- 
gation. 

In  the  last  place,  if  moral  obligation  be  constituted  by 
a  regard  to  our  situation  in  another  life,  how  shall  the  ex- 
istence of  a  future  state  be  proved,  or  even  rendered  prob- 
able, by  the  light  of  nature  ?  or  how  shall  we  discover 
what  conduct  is  acceptable  to  the  Deity  ?  The  truth  is, 
that  the  strongest  presumption  for  such  a  state  is  deduced 
from  our  natural  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  of  merit  and 


220  MORAL    OBLIGATION. 

demerit,  and  from  a  comparison  between  these  and  the 
general  course  of  human  affairs. 

It  is  absurd,  therefore,  to  ask  why  we  are  bound  to  prac- 
tise virtue.  The  very  notion  of  virtue  implies  the  notion 
of  obligation.  Every  being  who  is  conscious  of  the  dis- 
tinction between  right  and  wrong  carries  about  with  him  a 
law  which  he  is  bound  to  observe,  notwithstanding  he  may 
be  in  total  ignorance  of  a  future  state.  "  What  renders 
obnoxious  to  punishment,"  as  Dr.  Butler  has  well  re- 
marked, "is  not  the  foreknowledge  of  it,  but  merely  the 
violating  a  known  obligation."  Or  (as  Plato  has  express- 
ed the  same  idea),  TO  fitv  oydov  ro'^uo?  tail  (jaailixog.* 

From  what  has  been  stated,  it  follows  that  the  moral 
faculty,  considered  as  an  active  power  of  the  mind,  differs 
essentially  from  all  the  others  hitherto  enumerated.  The 
least  violation  of  its  authority  fills  us  with  remorse.  On 
the  contrary,  the  greater  the  sacrifices  we  make  in  obedi- 
ence to  its  suggestions,  the  greater  are  our  satisfaction  and 
triumph. 

II.  Butler  on  the  Supremacy  of  Conscience.^  The 
supreme  authority  of  conscience,  although  beautifully  de- 
scribed by  many  of  the  ancient  moralists,  was  not  suffi- 
ciently attended  to  by  modern  writers  as  a  fundamental 
principle  in  the  science  of  ethics  till  the  time  of  Dr.  Butler. 
Too  little  stress  is  laid  on  it  by  Lord  Shaftesbury  ;  and 
the  omission  is  the  chief  defect  in  his  system  of  morals. 
Shaftesbury's  opinion,  however,  although  he  does  not 
state  it  explicitly  in  his  Inquiry,  seems  to  have  been  pre- 
cisely the  same  at  bottom  with  that  of  Butler. f 

With  respect  to  Dr.  Butler,  I  shall  take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  remarking,  that  in  his  sermons  On  Human  JVo- 
ture,  in  the  Preface  to  his  Sermons,  and  in  a  short  Dis- 
sertation on  Virtue  annexed  to  his  Analogy,  he  has,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  gone  farther  towards  a  just  explanation  of 
our  moral  constitution  than  any  other  modern  philosopher. 
Without  aiming  at  the  praise  of  novelty  or  of  refinement, 
he  has  displayed  singular  penetration  and  sagacity  in  avail- 
ing himself  of  what  was  sound  in  former  systems,  and  in 

*  Minos.     "  Right  itself  is  a  royal  law." 

t  See  his  Advice  to  an  .Author,  Part  I.  Sect.  ii. 


MORAL    OBLIGATION.  221 

supplying  their  defects.  He  is  commonly  considered  as 
an  uninteresting  and  obscure  writer :  but,  for  my  own  part, 
I  never  could  perceive  the  slightest  foundation  for  such  a 
charge  ;  though  I  am  ready  to  grant  that  he  pays  little  at- 
tention to  the  graces  of  composition,  and  that  the  con- 
struction of  his  sentences  is  frequently  unskilful  and  un- 
harmonious.  As  to  the  charge  of  obscurity,  which  he 
himself  anticipated,  from  the  nature  of  his  subject,  he  has 
replied  to  it  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner  in  the  Preface 
already  referred  to.  I  think  it  proper  to  add,  that  I  would 
by  no  means  propose  these  sermons  (which  were  origi- 
nally preached  before  the  learned  Society  of  Lincoln's 
Inn)  as  models  for  the  pulpit.  I  consider  them  merely  in 
the  light  of  philosophical  essays.  In  the  same  volume 
with  them,  however,  are  to  be  found  some  practical  and 
characteristical  discourses,  which  are  peculiarly  interesting 
and  impressive,  particularly  the  sermons  On  Self-deceit, 
and  On  the  Character  of  Balaam  ;  both  of  which  evince 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  springs  of  human  action, 
rarely  found  in  union  with  speculative  and  philosophical 
powers  of  so  high  an  order.  The  chief  merit,  at  the 
same  time,  of  Butler  as  an  ethical  writer,  undoubtedly  lies 
in  what  he  has  written  on  the  supreme  authority  of  con- 
science as  the  governing  principle  of  human  conduct,  —  a 
doctrine  which  he  has  placed  in  the  strongest  and  happiest 
lights,  and  which,  before  his  time,  had  been  very  little 
attended  to  by  the  moderns.  It  is  sometimes  alluded  to 
by  Lord  Shaftesbury,  but  so  very  slightly  as  almost  to 
justify  the  censure  which  Butler  bestows  on  this  part  of 
his  writings. 

The  scope  of  Butler's  own  reasonings  may  be  easily 
conceived  from  the  passage  of  Scripture  which  he  has 
chosen  as  the  groundwork  of  his  argument : — :"  For  when 
the  Gentiles,  which  have  not  the  law,  do  by  nature  the 
things  contained  in  the  law,  these,  having  not  the  law,  are  . 
a  law  unto  themselves."  *  ""T^X 

*  "  Butler's  writings,"  says  Dr.  Whewell,  "  have  been  of  the  greatest 
value  in  preserving  and  restoring  among  us  true  views  of  morality ;  but 
there  are  some  expressions  used  by  him,  which,  if  not  duly  limited,  may 
lead  his  followers  into  mistakes.  Thus,  he  sometimes  speaks,  not  only 
of  the  authority,  but  of  the  supremacy,  of  conscience.  Now  if  by  calling 

19* 


222  MORAL    OBLIGATION. 

III.  Other  Authorities  for  the  same  Doctrine.}  One 
of  the  clearest  and  most  concise  statements  of  this  doctrine 
that  I  have  met  with  is  in  a  sermon  On  the  Nature  and 
Obligation  of  Virtue,  by  Dr.  Adams  of  Oxford  ;  the  just- 
ness of  whose  ideas  on  this  subject  make  it  the  more  sur- 
prising that  his  pupil  and  friend,  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson, 
should  have  erred  so  very  widely  from  the  truth.  ll Right," 
says  he,  "  implies  duty  in  its  idea.  To  perceive  an  ac- 
tion to  be  right  is  to  see  a  reason  for  doing  it  in  the  action 
itself,  abstracted  from  all  other  considerations  whatever  ; 
and  this  perception,  this  acknowledged  rectitude  in  the 
action,  is  the  very  essence  of  obligation,  that  which  com- 
mands the  approbation  and  choice,  and  binds  the  con- 
science of  every  rational  human  being."  —  "  Nothing  can 
bring  us  under  an  obligation  to  do  what  appears  to  our 
moral  judgment  wrong.  It  may  be  supposed  our  interest 
to  do  this,  but  it  cannot  be  supposed  our  duty.  For,  I 
ask,  if  some  power,  which  we  are  unable  to  resist,  should 
assume  the  command  over  us,  and  give  us  laws  which  are 

conscience  supreme,  it  were  meant  that  the  principle  so  described  is 
something  possessing  sovereign  and  original  authority  over  men's  other 
springs  of  action,  this  principle  would  necessarily  be  the  proper  ground 
of  rules  of  action  ;  and  all  such  rules  must  be  derived  ultimately  from 
this  principle.  We  should  then,  in  order  to  frame  rules  of  morality,  or 
to  decide  any  moral  question,  have  to  inquire  how  we  can  learn  the  de- 
cisions of  conscience  on  such  subjects.  Conscience  is  our  guide ;  where 
are  we  to  learn  what  she  says  ?  Conscience,  the  law  on  the  heart,  is 
supreme  over  all  laws  ;  how  are  we  to  read  this  law  ?  Conscience  is 
the  test  of  right  and  wrong;  but  whose  conscience?  for  conscience  be- 
longs to  a  person.  Butler's  opponents  have  constantly  said,  —  'You 
tell  us  that  conscience  is  the  proper  guide  of  action;  but  whose  con- 
science ?  ours,  or  yours  ?  Our  consciences  point  different  ways  ;  —  can 
both  be  right  ?  And  if  not  both,  how  are  we  to  know  which  ?  ' 

"These  are  familiar  and  popular  arguments;  but  they  appear  to  me 
to  be  decisive  against  all  who  ascribe  to  conscience  a  supremacy,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  term  ;  —  namely,  a  sovereign  and  ultimate  authority 
over  all  other  principles  of  action,  so  that,  when  a  decision  is  pronounced 
by  conscience,  there  is  no  further  reason  to  be.  rendered  for  it,  nor  any 

higher  decision  to  be  sought But  I  think  it  is  very  plain  that 

this  was  not  Butler's  view,  — that  he  did  not  thus  hold  an  original  and 
independent  faculty  of  conscience,  whose  decisions  would  form  a  per- 
manent body  of  moral  rules.  I  think  that,  with  him,  conscience  was 
not  a  body  of  truths,  but  a  process  by  which  truth  is  to  be  obtained  ;  — 
a  faculty,  if  you  choose,  but  a  faculty  which  must  be  trained  and  ex- 
ercised in  order  to  be  used,  —  which  may  be  improved,  instructed,  and 
enlightened,  —  which  may  be  blinded  and  perverted  in  individual  men. 
Conscience  is  a  faculty  of  man,  as  reason  is  a  faculty  ;  —  a  power  by  ex- 
ercising which  he  may  come  to  discern  truths,  not  a  repository  of  truths 


MORAL    OBLIGATION.  223 

unrighteous  and  unjust,  should  we  be  under  an  obligation 
to  obey  him  ?  Should  we  not  rather  be  obliged  to  shake 
off  the  yoke,  and  to  resist  such  usurpation,  if  it  were  in 
our  power  ?  However,  then,  we  might  be  swayed  by 
hope  or  fear,  it  is  plain  that  we  are  under  an  obligation  to 
right,  which  is  antecedent,  and  in  order  and  nature  supe- 
rior to  all  other.  Power  may  compel,  interest  may  bribe, 
pleasure  may  persuade,  but  reason  only  can  oblige.  This 
is  the  only  authority  which  rational  beings  can  own,  and  to 
which  they  owe  obedience." 

Dr.  Clarke  has  expressed  himself  nearly  to  the  same 
purpose.  "  The  judgment  and  conscience  of  a  man's 
own  mind  concerning  the  reasonableness  and  fitness  of  the 
thing  is  the  truest  and  formallest  obligation  ;  for  whoever 
acts  contrary  to  this  sense  and  conscience  of  his  own 
mind  is  necessarily  self-condemned ;  and  the  greatest  and 
strongest  of  all  obligations  is  that  which  a  man  can- 
not break  through  without  condemning  himself.  So  far, 
therefore,  as  men  are  conscious  of  what  is  right  and 

already  collected  in  a  visible  shape.  Conscience,  indeed,  is  the  reason, 
employed  about  questions  of  right  and  wrong,  and  accompanied  with 
the  sentiments  of  approbation  and  condemnation  which,  by  the  nature 
of  man,  cling  inextricably  to  his  apprehension  of  right  and  wrong.  This 
is  the  view  that  we  have  been  lea  to  take  of  conscience.  This  is,  as  I 
conceive,  Butler's  view  also.  That  by  conscience  he  does  not  mean 
any  special  independent  faculty,  distinct  from  the  reason  with  its  ac- 
companying moral  sentiments,  is,  I  think,  evident  from  the  whole  cur- 
rent of  his  language.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to  the  single  term 
conscience,  in  his  account  of  the  superior  principle  of  our  nature:  on  the 
contrary,  lie  perpetually  uses,  for  this  term  or  with  it,  other  terms, 
which  give  the  same  view  of  it  which  we  have  taken.  He  calls  it 're- 
flection on  conscience,  an  approbation  of  some  principles  or  actions,  and 
a  disapprobation  of  others';  —  and  again, '  reflex  approbation  or  disap- 
probation':  all  the  phrases  which  he  employs  manifestly  point  at  a 
principle  or  faculty,  not  by  which  we  necessarily  have,  but  by  which 
we  may  get,  a  true  knowledge  of  the  course  which  we  ought  to  take 
under  any  given  circumstances.  We  are,  to  use  another  of  his  phrases, 
'to  act  suitably  to  our  whole  nature,  and  especially  to  the  higher  and 
better  part  of  our  nature  ' ;  the  constitution  of  human  nature  being  such 
that  there  is  in  it  a  higher  and  better  part.  This  higher  and  better  part 
tells  us  that  injustice  is  worse  than  pain  ;  but  it  does  not  tell  us  what 
acts  are  unjust,  except  through  the  process  of  reflection.  The  notion  of 
injustice  is  necessarily  the  object  of  disapprobation  to  the  conscience  ; 
but  to  unfold  this  notion  of  injustice  into  detail,  so  as  to  see  what  spe- 
cial acts  are  included  in  it,  —  this  is  the  office  of  the  reflection,  that  is, 
of  the  reason."  Lectures  on  Systematic  Morality,  Lecture  VI. 

On  the  whole  subject  of  conscience,  see  President  Wayland's  Ele- 
ments of  Moral  Science,  Book  I.  Chap.  ii. —  ED. 


224  MORAL    OBLIGATION. 

wrong,  so  far  they  are  under  an  obligation  to  act  accord- 
ingly."* 

I  would  not  have  quoted  so  many  passages  in  illustra- 
tion of  a  point  which  appears  to  myself  so  very  obvious, 
if  I  had  not  been  anxious  to  counteract  the  authority  of 
some  eminent  writers  who  have  lately  espoused  a  very 
different  system,  by  showing  how  widely  they  have  de- 
parted from  the  sound  and  philosophical  views  of  their 
predecessors.  I  confess,  too,  I  should  have  distrusted 
my  own  judgment,  if,  on  a  question  so  interesting  to  hu- 
man happiness,  and  so  open  to  examination,  I  had  been 
led,  by  any  theoretical  refinements,  to  a  conclusion  which 
was  not  sanctioned  by  the  concurrent  sentiments  of  other 
impartial  inquirers.  The  fact,  however,  is,  that,  as  this 
view  of  human  nature  is  the  most  simple,  so  it  is  the  most 
ancient  which  occurs  in  the  history  of  moral  science.  It 
was  the  doctrine  of  the  Pythagorean  school,  as  appears 
from  a  fragment  of  Theages,  a  Pythagorean  writer,  pub- 
lished in  Gale's  Opuscula  Mythologica.  It  is  also  ex- 
plained by  Plato  in  some  of  his  dialogues,  in  which  he 
compared  the  soul  to  a  commonwealth,  and  reason  to  the 
council  of  state,  which  governs  and  directs  the  whole. f 

*  Discourse  concerning  the  Unalterable  Obligations  of  Natural  Religion, 
Proposition  I.  3. 

t  "  In  Plato's  dialogues  the  question  is  repeatedly  discussed,  whether 
the  rule  of  action  for  man  be  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  and  gain,  or  the  in- 
ternal harmony  of  his  nature.  You  will,  many  of  you,  recollect  the 
lively  and  dramatic  dialogue  at  the  beginning  of  The  Republic,  in  which 
the  former  of  these  opinions  is  asserted  by  one  of  the  interlocutors,  and 
the  acute  and  decisive  Socratic  refutation  which  it  encounters.  You 
will  recollect,  too,  the  doctrine  announced  at  the  close  of  the  fourth 
book,  as  the  result  of  the  previous  discussion.  '  Virtue,  then,  as  we  are 
thus  led  to  see,  is  a  health  and  beauty  and  well-being  of  the  soul. 
Vice  is  a  disease,  and  foulness,  and  infirmity.'  And  when  the  originaJ 
question  is,  at  this  point  of  the  argument,  again  asked, —  whether  it  is 
better  to  be  just  or  to  be  unjust,  even  if  the  injustice  is  to  remain  un- 
known by  all  and  to  meet  no  punishment,  —  the  person  to  whom  the 
argument  is  addressed,  and  who  is,  by  this  time,  brought  to  a  conviction 
of  the  truth  of  the  doctrine  which  it  is  the  object  of  the  dialogue  to  in- 
culcate, says,  '  Nay,  Socrates,  this  question  is  now  ridiculously  super- 
fluous.' And  in  the  ninth  book,  the  discussion  being  really  concluded, 
the  speakers,  playfully  mimicking  the  practice  of  pronouncing,  by  the 
voice  of  a  public  crier,  a  solemn  judgment  upon  the  merit  of  a  theatrical 
spectacle,  agree  to  proclaim,  —  'The  son  of  Aristo  gives  his  judgment 
that  the  most  virtuous  and  just  is  also  the  most  happy,  and  the  wicked 
and  unjust  the  most  unhappy ' ;  and  further, '  that  this  is  so,  even  if  their 


MORAL    OBLIGATION.  225 

In  the  following  passage  from  Cicero  the  same  doctrine 
is  enforced  in  a  manner  peculiarly  sublime  and  expressive, 
or,  as  Lactandus  says,  pcene  divina  voce.  "  Est  quidem 
vera  Lex,  recta  ratio,  naturae  congruens,  diffusa  in  omnes, 
constans,  sernpiterna,  quae  vocet  ad  officium  jubendo,  ve- 
tando  a  fraude  deterreat,  qua?  tamen  neque  probos  frustra 
jubet  aut  vetat,  nee  improbos  jubendo  aut  vetando  movet. 
Huic  legi  nee  obrogari  fas  est,  neque  derogari  ex  hac  ali- 
quid  licet,  neque  tola  abrogari  potest.  Nee  vero  aut  per 
senatum  aut  per  populum  solvi  hac  lege  possumus  :  neque 
est  quaerendus  explanator  aut  interpres  ejus  alius  :  nee 
erit  alia  Lex  Romae,  alia  Athenis,  alia  nunc,  alia  posthac  ; 
sed  et  omnes  gentes,  et  ornni  tempore  una  lex  et  sernpi- 
terna et  immutabilis  continebit ;  unusque  erit  communis 
quasi  magister  et  irnperator  omnium  Deus.  Ille  legis 
hujus  inventor,  disceptator,  lator.  Cui  qui  non  parebit, 
ipse  se  fugiet,  ac,  naturam  hominis  aspernatus,  hoc  ipso 
luet  maximas  pcenas,  etiamsi  caetera  supplicia,  quae  putan- 
tur,  effugerit."  * 

It  is  very  justly  observed  by  Mr.  Smith,  (and  I  consider 
the  remark  as  of  the  highest  importance,)  that  "  if  the  dis- 
tinction pointed  out  in  the  foregoing  quotations  between 
the  moral  faculty  and  our  other  active  powers  be  acknowl- 
edged, it  is  of  the  less  consequence  ichat  particular  theory 
we  adopt  concerning  the  origin  of  our  moral  irfeos."  And 
accordingly,  though  he  resolves  moral  approbation  ulti- 
mately into  a  feeling  of  the  mind,  he  nevertheless  repre- 
sents the  supremacy  of  conscience  as  a  principle  which  is 
equally  essential  to  all  the  different  systems  that  have  been 

deeds  are.  hidden  from  all,  men  and  gods.'" — Whewell's  Systematic 
Morality,  Lecture  VI. 

*  De  Rejiub.  Lib.  III.  22.  "  There  is  a  true  law,  a  right  reason,  con- 
gruous to  nature,  pervading  all  minds,  constant,  eternal;  which  calls  to 
duty  by  its  commands,  and  repels  from  wrong-doing  by  its  prohibitions: 
and  to  the  good  does  not  command  or  forbid  in  vain,  while  the  wick- 
ed are  unmoved  by  its  exhortations  or  its  warnings.  This  law  cannot 
be  annulled,  superseded,  or  overruled.  No  senate,  no  people,  can  loose 
us  from  it;  no  jurist,  no  interpreter,  can  explain  it  away.  It  is  not 
one  law  at  Rome,  another  at  Athens;  one  at  present,  another  at  some 
future  time  ;  but  one  law,  perpetual  and  immutable,  it  extends  to  all 
nations  and  all  times,  the  universal  sovereign.  Of  this  law  the  author 
and  giver  is  God.  Whoever  disobeys  it  flies  from  himself,  and  by  the 
wrong  thus  done  to  his  own  nature,  even  though  he  should  escape 
every  other  form  of  punishment,  incurs  the  heaviest  penalty." 


226  MORAL    OBLIGATION. 

proposed  on  the  subject.  "  Upon  whatever  we  suppose  our 
moral  faculties  to  be  founded,"  (I  quote  his  own  words,) 
"  whether  upon  a  certain  modification  of  reason,  upon  an 
original  instinct  called  a  moral  sense,  or  upon  some  other 
principle  of  our  nature,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  they  are 
given  us  for  the  direction  of  our  conduct  in  this  life.  They 
carry  along  with  them  the  most  evident  badges  of  their 
authority,  which  denote  that  they  were  set  up  within  us  to 
be  the  supreme  arbiters  of  all  our  actions  ;  to  superintend 
all  our  senses,  passions,  and  appetites  ;  and  to  judge  how 
far  each  of  them  was  to  be  either  indulged  or  restrained. 
Our  moral  faculties  are  by  no  means,  as  some  have  pre- 
tended, upon  a  level  in  this  respect  with  the  other  faculties 
and  appetites  of  our  nature,  endowed  with  no  more  right 
to  restrain  these  last  than  these  last  are  to  restrain  them. 
No  other  faculty  or  principle  of  action  judges  of  any 
other.  Love  does  not  judge  of  resentment,  nor  resent- 
ment of  love.  Those  two  passions  may  be  opposite  to 
one  another,  but  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be  said  to 
approve  or  disapprove  of  one  another.  But  it  is  the  pe- 
culiar office  of  those  faculties  now  under  consideration  to 
judge,  to  bestow  censure  or  applause  upon  all  the  other 
principles  of  our  nature." 

"  Since  these,  therefore,"  continues  Mr.  Smith,  "  were 
plainly  intended  to  be  the  governing  principles  of  human 
nature,  the  rules  which  they  prescribe  are  to  be  regarded 
as  the  commands  and  laws  of  the  Deity  promulgated  by 
those  vicegerents  which  he  has  thus  set  up  within  us.  By 
acting  according  to  their  dictates  we  may  be  said,  in  some 
sense,  to  cooperate  with  the  Deity,  and  to  advance,  as 
far  as  in  our  power,  the  plan  of  Providence.  By  acting 
otherwise,  on  the  contrary,  we  seem  to  obstruct  in  some 
measure  the  scheme  which  the  Author  of  Nature  has 
established  for  the  happiness  and  perfection  of  the  world, 
and  to  declare  ourselves  in  some  measure  the  enemies  of 
God.  Hence  we  are  naturally  encouraged  to  hope  for 
his  extraordinary  favor  and  reward  in  the  one  case,  and 
to  dread  his  vengeance  and  punishment  in  the  other."  * 

T  have  only  to  add  further  on  this  subject  at  present, 

"  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  III.  Chap.  T. 


MORAL    OBLIGATION.  227 

that  the  supreme  authority  of  conscience  is  felt  and  tacitly 
acknowledged  by  the  worst  no  less  than  by  the  best  of 
men  ;  for  even  they  who  have  thrown  off  all  hypocrisy 
with  the  world  are  at  pains  to  conceal  their  real  character 
from  their  own  eyes.  No  man  ever,  in  a  soliloquy  or 
private  meditation,  avowed  to  himself  that  he  was  a  vil- 
lain ;  nor  do  I  believe  that  such  a  character  as  Joseph,  in 
The  School  for  Scandal,  (who  is  introduced  as  reflecting 
coollyon  his  own  knavery  and  baseness,  without  any  un- 
easiness but  what  arises  from  the  dread  of  detection,)  ever 
existed  in  the  world.  Such  men  probably  impose  on 
themselves  fully  as  much  as  they  do  upon  others.  Hence 
the  various  artifices  of  self-deceit  which  Butler  has  so  well 
described  in  his  discourses  on  that  subject. 

It  is  said  by  St.  Augustine,  that  at  the  delivery  of  that 
famous  line  of  Terence,  — 

"  Homo  sum,  humani  nihil  a  me  alienum  puto,"  — 

"  I  am  a  man,  and  feel  an  interest  in  all  mankind,"  —  the 
whole  Roman  theatre  resounded  with  applause.*  We 
may  venture  to  say  that  a  similar  sentiment,  well  pro- 
nounced by  an  actor,  would  at  this  day,  in  the  most  cor- 
rupt capital  in  Europe,  be  followed  by  a  similar  burst  of 
sympathetic  emotion. 

"  Voyez  a  DOS  spectacles 

Q,uand  on  peint  quelque  trait  de  candeur,  de  bonte, 
Ou  brille  en  tout  son  jour  la  tendre  humanite, 
Tous  les  coeurs  sont  remplis  d'une  volupte  pure, 
Et  c'est  la  qu'on  entend  le  cri  de  la  nature,    t 

"  On  such  occasions,"  (as  a  late  writer  remarks,) 
"though  we  may  think  meanly  of  the  genius  of  the  poet, 
it  is  impossible  not  to  think,  and  to  be  happy  in  thinking, 
highly  of  the  people  ;  —  the  people  whose  opinions  may 
often  be  foily,  whose  conduct  may  sometimes  be  madness, 
but  whose  sentiments  are  almost  always  honorable  and 
just  ;  —  the  people  whom  an  author  may  delight  with 
bombast,  may  amuse  with  tinsel,  may  divert  with  inde- 
cency, but  whom  he  cannot  mislead  in  principle,  nor  hard- 
en into  inhumanity.  It  is  only  the  mob  in  the  side  boxes, 

*  See  a  note  on  this  line  in  Coleman's  translation  of  Terence's  Self- 
Tormtntor. 
t  Gresset,  Le  Mechant. 


228  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

who,  in  the  coldness  of  self-interest,  or  the  languor  of  out- 
worn dissipation,  can  hear  unmoved  the  sentiments  of 
compassion,  of  generosity,  or  of  virtue."* 


CHAPTER    V. 

OF  CERTAIN  PRINCIPLES  WHICH  COOPERATE  WITH 
OUR  MORAL  POWERS  IN  THEIR  INFLUENCE  ON  THE 
CONDUCT. 

IN  order  to  secure  still  more  completely  the  good  order 
of  society,  and  to  facilitate  the  acquisition  of  virtuous 
habits,  nature  has  superadded  to  our  moral  constitution  a 
variety  of  auxiliary  principles,  which  sometimes  give  rise 
to  a  conduct  agreeable  to  the  rules  of  morality  and  highly 
useful  to  mankind,  where  the  merit  of  the  individual,  con- 
sidered as  a  moral  agent,  is  inconsiderable.  Hence  some 
of  them  have  been  confounded  with  our  moral  powers,  or 
even  supposed  to  be  of  themselves  sufficient  to  account 
for  the  phenomena  of  moral  perception,  by  authors  whose 
views  of  human  nature  have  not  been  sufficiently  compre- 
hensive. The  most  important  principles  of  this  descrip- 
tion are,  —  1st.  A  Regard  to  Character.  2d.  Sympathy. 
3d.  The  Sense  of  the  Ridiculous.  And  4th.  Taste.  The 
principle  of  Self-love  (which  was  treated  of  in  a  former 
section)  cooperates  very  powerfully  to  the  same  purposes. 

SECTION  I. 

OF  DECENCY,  OR  A  REGARD  TO  CHARACTER. 

UPON  this  subject  I  had  formerly  occasion  to  offer  va- 
rious remarks  in  treating  of  the  desire  of  esteem.  But  the 
view  of  it  which  I  then  took  was  extremely  general,  as  I 
did  not  think  it  necessary  for  me  to  attend  to  the  distinc- 
tion between  intellectual  and  moral  qualities.  There  can 

*  Mackenzie's  Account  of  the  German  Theatre.     Transactions  of  the 
Royal  Society  of  Edinburgh,  Vol.  II.  Part  ii.  p.  174. 


SYMPATHY.  229 

be  no  doubt  tbat  a  regard  to  tbe  good  opinion  of  our  fel- 
low-creatures has  great  influence  in  promoting  our  exer- 
tions to  cultivate  both  the  one  and  the  other  ;  but  what  we 
are  more  particularly  concerned  to  remark  at  present  is 
the  effect  which  this  principle  has  in  strengthening  our 
virtuous  habits,  and  in  restraining  those  passions  which  a 
sense  of  duty  alone  would  not  be  sufficient  to  regulate. 

I  have  before  observed,  that  the  desire  of  esteem  oper- 
ates in  children  before  they  have  a  capacity  of  distinguish- 
ing right  from  wrong  ;  and  that  the  former  principle  of 
action  continues  for  a  long  time  to  be  much  more  powerful 
than  the  latter.  Hence  it  furnishes  a  most  useful  and  ef- 
fectual engine  in  the  business  of  education,  more  particu- 
larly by  training  us  early  to  exertions  of  self-command  and 
self-denial.  It  teaches  us,  for  example,  to  restrain  our  ap- 
petites within  those  bounds  which  delicacy  prescribes,  and 
thus  forms  us  to  habits  of  moderation  and  temperance. 
And  although  our  conduct  cannot  be  denominated  vir- 
tuous so  long  as  a  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others  is  our 
sole  motive,  yet  the  habits  we  thus  acquire  in  infancy  and 
childhood  render  it  more  easy  for  us  to  subject  our  pas- 
sions to  reason  and  conscience  as  we  advance  to  maturity. 
The  subject  well  deserves  a  more  ample  illustration  ;  but 
at  present  it  is  sufficient  to  recall  these  remarks  to  the 
recollection  of  the  reader. 

SECTION  II. 

OP    SYMPATHY. 

I.  Nature  and  Functions  of  Sympathy.]  That  there 
is  an  exquisite  pleasure  annexed  by  the  constitution  of  our 
nature  to  the  sympathy  or  fellow-feeling  of  other  men 
with  our  joys  and  sorrows,  and  even  with  our  opinions, 
tastes,  and  humors,  is  a  fact  obvious  to  vulgar  observa- 
tion. It  is  no  less  evident  that  we  feel  a  disposition  to 
accommodate  the  state  of  our  own  minds  to  that  of  our 
companions,  wherever  we  feel  a  benevolent  affection  to- 
wards them,  and  that  this  accommodating  temper  is  in 
proportion  to  the  strength  of  our  affection.  In  such  cases 
sympathy  would  appear  to  be  grafted  on  benevolence  ; 
20 


230  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

and  perhaps  it  might  be  found,  on  an  accurate  examina- 
tion, that  the  greater  part  of  the  pleasure  which  sympathy 
yields  is  resolvable  into  that  which  arises  from  the  ex- 
ercise of  kindness,  and  from  the  consciousness  of  being 
beloved. 

II.  Mam  Smith's  Theory.]  The  phenomena  gener- 
ally referred  to  sympathy  have  appeared  to  Mr.  iSrnith 
so  important,  and  so  curiously  connected,  that  he  has 
been  led  to  attempt  an  explanation  from  this  single  prin- 
ciple of  all  the  phenomena  of  moral  perception.  In  this 
attempt,  however,  (not  to  mention  the  vague  use  which 
he  occasionally  makes  of  the  term,)  he  has  plainly  been 
misled,  like  many  eminent  philosophers  before  him,  by 
an  excessive  love  of  simplicity  ;  and  has  mistaken  a  very 
subordinate  principle  in  our  moral  constitution  (or  rather 
a  principle  superadded  to  our  moral  constitution  as  an 
auxiliary  to  the  sense  of  duty)  for  that  faculty  which  dis- 
tinguishes right  from  wrong,  and  which  (by  what  name 
soever  we  may  choose  to  call  it)  recurs  on  us  constantly 
in  all  our  ethical  disquisitions,  as  an  ultimate  fact  in  the 
nature  of  man. 

I  shall  take  this  opportunity  of  offering  a  few  remarks 
on  this  most  ingenious  and  beautiful  theory,  in  the  course 
of  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  state  all  that  I  think 
necessary  to  observe  concerning  the  place  which  sympa- 
thy seems  to  me  really  to  occupy  in  our  moral  constitu- 
tion. In  stating  these  remarks,  1  would  be  understood  to 
express  myself  with  all  the  respect  and  veneration  due  to 
the  talents  and  virtues  of  a  writer,  whose  friendship  I  re- 
gard as  one  of  the  most  fortunate  incidents  of  my  life,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  with  that  entire  freedom  which  the  im- 
portance of  the  subject  demands,  and  which  I  know  that 
his  candid  and  liberal  mind  would  have  approved. 

In  addition  to  the  incidental  strictures  which  I  have 
already  hazarded  on  Mr.  Smith's  theory,  I  have  yet  to 
state  two  objections  of  a  more  general  nature,  to  which  it 
appears  to  me  to  be  obviously  liable.  But  before  I  pro- 
ceed to  these  objections,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  premise 
(which  I  shall  do  in  Mr.  Smith's  words)  a  remark  which 
I  have  not  hitherto  had  occasion  to  mention,  and  which 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  231 

may  be  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  characteristical 
principles  of  his  system. 

"  Were  it  possible,"  says  he,  "  that  a  human  creature 
could  grow  up  to  manhood  in  some  solitary  place,  without 
any  communication  with  his  own  species,  he  could  no 
more  think  of  his  own  character,  of  the  propriety  or  de- 
merit of  his  own  sentiments  and  conduct,  of  the  beauty  or 
deformity  of  his  own  mind,  than  of  the  beauty  or  deform- 
ity of  his  own  face.  All  these  are  objects  which  he  can- 
not easily  see,  which  naturally  he  does  not  look  at,  and 
with  regard  to  which  he  is  provided  with  no  mirror  which 
can  present  them  to  his  view.  Bring  him  into  society, 
and  he  is  immediately  provided  with  the  mirror  which  he 
wanted  before.  It  is  placed  in  the  countenance  and  be- 
haviour of  those  he  lives  with,  which  always  mark  when 
they  enter  into  and  when  they  disapprove  of  his  senti- 
ments, and  it  is  here  that  he  first  views  the  propriety  and 
impropriety  of  his  own  passions,  the  beauty  and  deformity 
of  his  own  mind."  *  >--V>-' 

Til.  Two  Objections  to  the  Theory  in  general.]  To 
this  account  of  the  origin  of  our  moral  sentiments  it  may  be 
objected,  —  1st.  That,  granting  the  proposition  to  be  true, 
"  that  a  human  creature,  who  should  grow  up  to  manhood 
without  any  communication  with  his  own  species,  could 
no  more  think  of  the  propriety  or  demerit  of  his  own  sen- 
timents than  of  the  beauty  or  deformity  of  his  own  face," 
it  would  by  no  means  authorize  the  conclusion  which  is 
here  deduced  from  it.  The  necessity  of  social  inter- 
course, as  an  indispensable  condition  implied  in  the  gener- 
ation and  growth  of  our  moral  sentiments,  does  not  arise 
merely  from  its  effect  in  holding  up  a  mirror  for  the  ex- 
amination of  our  own  character  ;  but  from  the  impossi- 
bility of  finding,  in  a  solitary  state,  any  field  for  the  exer- 
cise of  our  most  important  moral  duties.  In  such  a  state 
the  moral  faculty  would  inevitably  remain  dormant  and 
useless,  for  the  same  reason  that  the  organ  of  sight  would 
remain  useless  and  unknown  to  a  person  who  should  pass 
his  whole  life  in  the  darkness  of  a  dungeon. 

*   Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  III.  Chap.  i. 


232  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

2d.  It  may  be  objected  to  Mr.  Smith's  theory,  that  it 
confounds  the  means  or  expedients  by  which  nature  enables 
us  to  correct  our  moral  judgments,  with  the  principles  in 
our  constitution  to  which  our  moral  judgments  owe  their 
origin.  These  means  or  expedients  he  has  indeed  de- 
scribed with  singular  penetration  and  sagacity,  and  by 
doing  so  has  thrown  new  and  most  important  lights  on 
practical  morality  ;  but,  after  all  his  reasonings  on  the 
subject,  the  metaphysical  problem  concerning  the  primary 
sources  of  our  moral  ideas  and  emotions  will  be  found  in- 
volved in  the  same  obscurity  as  before.  The  intention  of 
such  expedients,  it  is  perfectly  obvious,  is  merely  to  ob- 
tain a  just  and  fair  view  of  circumstances  ;  and  after  this 
view  has  been  obtained,  the  question  still  remains,  what 
constitutes  the  obligation  upon  me  to  act  in  a  particular 
manner  ?  In  answer  to  this  question  it  is  said,  that,  from 
recollecting  my  own  judgments  in  similar  cases  in  which 
I  was  concerned,  I  infer  in  what  light  my  conduct  will  ap- 
pear to  society  ;  that  there  is  an  exquisite  satisfaction  an- 
nexed to  mutual  sympathy  ;  and  that,  in  order  to  obtain 
this  satisfaction,  I  accommodate  my  conduct,  not  to  my 
own  feelings,  but  to  those  of  my  fellow-creatures.  Now 
I  acknowledge  that  this  may  account  for  a  man's  assum- 
ing the  appearance  of  virtue,  and  I  believe  that  something 
of  this  sort  is  the  real  foundation  of  the  rules  of  good 
breeding  in  polished  society  ;  *  but  in  the  important  con- 
cerns of  life  I  apprehend  there  is  something  more  ;  for 
when  I  have  once  satisfied  myself  with  respect  to  the  con- 
duct which  an  impartial  judge  would  approve  of,  I  feel 
that  this  conduct  is  right  for  me,  and  that  I  am  under  a 
moral  obligation  to  put  it  in  practice.  If  I  had  had  re- 
course to  no  expedient  for  correcting  my  first  judgment,  I 
should  nevertheless  have  formed  some  judgment  or  other 
of  a  particular  conduct  as  right,  wrong,  or  indifferent,  and 
the  only  difference  would  have  been,  that  I  should  prob- 

*  This  remark  I  borrow  from  Dr.  Beattie,  who,  in  his  Essay  on  Truth, 
observes,  that  the  foundation  of  good  breeding  is  "  that  kind  of  sensi- 
bility or  sympathy  by  which  we  suppose  ourselves  in  the  situation  of 
others,  adopt  their  sentiments,  and  in  a  manner  perceive  their  very 
thoughts."  Part  I.  Chap.  i.  The  observation  well  deserves  to  be  pros- 
ecuted. 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  233 

ably  have  decided  improperly,  from  an  erroneous  or  a 
partial  view  of  the  case. 

From  these  observations  I  conclude,  that  the  words 
right  and  wrong,  ought  and  ought  no/,*  express  simple 
ideas  or  notions,  of  which  no  explanation  can  be  given. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  all  languages,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  carry  on  any  ethical  speculation  without  them.  Of  this 
Mr.  Smith  himself  furnishes  a  remarkable  proof  in  the 
statement  of  his  theory,  not  only  by  the  occasional  use 
which  he  makes  of  these  and  other  synonymous  expres- 
sions, but  by  his  explicit  and  repeated  acknowledgments, 
that  the  propriety  of  action  cannot  be  always  determined 
by  the  actual  judgments  of  society,  and  that,  in  such 
cases,  we  must  act  according  to  the  judgments  which  other 
men  ought  to  have  formed  of  our  conduct.  Is  not  this  to 
admit  that  we  have  a  standard  of  right  and  wrong  in  our 
own  minds,  of  superior  authority  to  any  instinctive  pro- 
pensity we  may  feel  to  obtain  the  sympathy  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  ? 

It  was  in  order  to  reconcile  this  acknowledgment  with 
the  general  language  of  his  system  that  Mr.  Smith  was 
forced  to  have  recourse  to  the  supposition  of  "  an  abstract 
man  within  the  breast,  the  representative  of  mankind  and 
substitute  of  the  Deity,  whom  nature  has  constituted  the 
supreme  judge  of  all  our  actions."!  Of  this  very  in- 
genious fiction  he  has  availed  himself  in  various  passages 
of  the  first  editions  of  his  book  ;  but  he  has  laid  much 
greater  stress  upon  it  in  the  last  edition,  [the  sixth,]  pub- 
lished a  short  time  before  his  death.  An  idea  somewhat 
similar  occurs  in  Lord  Shaftesbury's  Advice  to  an  Author, 
where  he  observes,  with  that  quaintness  of  phraseology 
which  so  often  deforms  his  otherwise  beautiful  style,  that 
"when  the  wise  ancients  spoke  of  a  demon,  genius,  or 

*  Dr.  Hutcheson,in  his  Illustrations  vpon  the  Moral  Sense,  calls  ought 
a  confused  word:  —  "As  to  that  confused  word  ought,"  &c.  Sect.  I. 
ad  fin.  But  for  this  he  seems  to  have  had  no  better  reason  than  the  im- 
possibility of  defining  it  logically.  And  may  not  the  same  remark  be 
applied  to  the  words  time,  space,  motion  ?  Was  there  ever  a  language 
in  which  these  words,  together  with  those  of  ought  and  ought  not,  were 
not  to  be  found  ?  Ought  corresponds  with  the  Set  of  the  Greeks,  and 
the  oportet  and  decet  of  the  Latins. 

t  Page  208,  5th  edition. 

20* 


234  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

angel,  to  whom  we  are  committed  from  the  moment  of 
our  birth,  they  meant  no  more  than  enigmatically  to  de- 
clare, '  that  we  have  each  of  us  a  patient  in  ourselves  ;  that 
we  are  properly  our  own  subjects  of  practice  ;  and  that 
we  then  become  due  practitioners,  when,  by  virtue  of  an 
intimate  recess,  we  can  discover  a  certain  duplicity  of 
soul,  and  divide  ourselves  into  two  parties.' '  He  after- 
wards tells  us,  that,  "  according  as  this  recess  was  deep 
and  intimate,  and  the  dual  number  practically  formed  in  us, 
we  were  supposed  by  the  ancients  to  advance  in  morals 
and  true  wisdom."  * 

By  means  of  this  fiction  Mr.  Smith  has  rendered  his 
theory  (contrary  to  what  might  have  been  expected  from 
its  first  aspect)  perfectly  coincident  in  its  practical  ten- 
dency with  that  cardinal  principle  of  the  Stoical  philosophy 
which  exhorts  us  to  search  for  the  rules  of  life,  not  with- 
out ourselves,  but  within:  —  "Nee  te  quaesiveris  extra." 
Indeed,  Butler  himself  has  not  asserted  the  authority  and 
supremacy  of  conscience  in  stronger  terms  than  Mr.  Smith, 
who  represents  this  as  a  manifest  and  unquestionable  prin- 
ciple, whatever  particular  theory  we  may  adopt  concern- 
ing the  origin  of  our  moral  ideas.  It  is  only  to  be  regret- 
ted, that,  instead  of  the  metaphorical  expression  of  "  the 
man  within  the  breast,  to  whose  opinions  and  feelings  we 
find  it  of  more  consequence  to  conform  our  conduct  than 
to  those  of  the  whole  world,"  he  had  not  made  use  of  the 
simpler  and  more  familiar  words  reason  and  conscience. 
This  mode  of  speaking  was  indeed  suggested  to  him,  or 
rather  obtruded  on  him,  by  the  theory  of  sympathy,  and 
nothing  can  exceed  the  skill  and  taste  with  which  he  has 
availed  himself  of  its  assistance  in  perfecting  his  system  ; 
but  it  has  the  effect,  with  many  readers,  of  keeping  out  of 
view  the  real  state  of  the  question,  and  (like  Plato's  com- 
monwealth of  the  soul  and  council  of  state)  to  encourage 
among  inferior  writers  a  figurative  or  allegorical  style  in 
treating  of  subjects  which,  more  than  any  other,  require 
all  the  simplicity,  precision,  and  logical  consistency  of 
which  language  is  susceptible. 

•  Part  I.  Sect.  ii. 


SYMPATHY. ADAM    SMITH.  235 

IV.  Particular  Instances  in  which  Smith  lays  too  much 
Stress  on  Sympathy.]  A  few  slight  observations  on  de- 
tached passages  of  Mr.  Smith's  theory  will  be  useful  in 
illustrating  more  fully  certain  phenomena  referred  by  him, 
rather  too  exclusively,  to  the  principle  of  sympathy  or 
fellow-feeling. 

In  proof  of  the  pleasure  annexed  to  mutual  sympathy, 
Mr.  Smith  remarks,  that  "  a  man  is  mortified  when,  after 
having  endeavoured  to  divert  the  company,  he  looks  around 
and  sees  that  nobody  laughs  at  his  jest  but  himself."*  It 
may  be  doubted,  however,  if  in  this  case  a  disappointed 
sympathy  be  the  chief  cause  of  his  uneasiness.  Various 
other  circumstances  undoubtedly  conspire,  particularly  the 
censure  which  the  silence  of  the  company  conveys  of  his 
taste  and  judgment,  together  with  the  proof  it  exhibits  of 
their  sullenn'ess  and  want  of  good-humor. 

The  pleasure,  too,  which,  according  to  Mr.  Smith,  we 
receive  from  reading  to  a  stranger  a  poem  whose  effect 
on  ourselves  has  been  destroyed  by  repetition,  may  be 
explained,  without  any  refinement  about  sympathy,  by  the 
satisfaction  we  always  feel  in  communicating  pleasure  to 
another,  combined  with  the  flattering  though  indirect  testi- 
mony paid  to  the  justness  of  our  taste  by  its  coincidence 
with  that  of  an  individual  whose  judgment  we  respect. 
The  sympathy  of  an  acknowledged  fool  would  certainly 
be  in  the  same  circumstances  a  source  of  mortification. 

In  mentioning  these  considerations,  I  do  not  mean  to 
dispute  that  there  is  an  exquisite  pleasure  arising  from 
mutual  sympathy  ;  but  only  to  suggest,  that  Mr.  Smith 
has  ascribed  to  this  principle  solely  various  phenomena, 
in  accounting  for  which  other  causes  appear  to  be  no  less 
deserving  of  attention. 

The  versatile  and  accommodating  manners  which  Mr. 
Smith  has  so  beautifully  described  in  Various  passages  of 
his  Theory  may  be  assumed  from  different  motives,  —  in 
some  men  from  a  desire  to  promote  the  happiness  of  those 
around  them  ;  and  where  this  is  the  case,  it  is  unquestion- 
ably one  of  the  most  amiable  and  meritorious  forms  in 
which  benevolence  can  appear,  and  contributes  more  by 

*  Part  I.  Sect.  i.  Chap.  ii. 


236  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

its  daily  and  constant  operation  to  increase  the  comfort  of 
human  life  than  those  splendid  exertions  of  virtue  which 
we  are  so  seldom  called  upon  to  make.  In  other  men, 
in  whom  the  benevolent  affections  are  not  so  strong,  it 
may  proceed  chiefly  from  a  view  to  their  own  tranquillity 
and  amusement,  and  may  render  them  agreeable  and  harm- 
less companions,  without  giving  them  any  claim  to  the  ap- 
pellation of  virtuous.  In  many  it  arises  from  views  of  self- 
interest  and  ambition  ;  and  in  such  men,  whatever  pleasure 
we  may  have  derived  from  their  society,  these  qualities 
never  fail  to  inspire  universal  distrust  and  dislike,  as  soon 
as  they  are  known  to  be  the  real  motives  of  that  pliancy 
and  versatility  with  which  we  were  at  6rst  captivated.  It 
would  appear,  therefore,  that  the  accommodating  temper, 
where  it  is  approved  as  morally  right,  is  not  approved  on 
its  own  account,  but  as  an  expression  of  a  benevolent  dis- 
position. 

From  the  combined  efforts  of  the  actor  and  of  the  spec- 
tator towards  a  mutual  sympathy,  Mr.  Smith  endeavours 
to  trace  the  origin  of  "  two  different  sets  of  virtues." 
Upon  the  effort  of  the  spectator  to  enter  into  the  situation 
of  the  person  principally  concerned,  and  to  raise  his  sym- 
pathetic emotions  to  a  level  with  the  emotions  of  the  actor, 
are  founded  "  the  gentle,  the  amiable  virtues,  the  virtues 
of  candid  condescension  and  indulgent  humanity."  Upon 
the  effort  of  the  person  principally  concerned  to  lower  his 
own  emotions,  so  as  to  correspond  as  nearly  as  possible 
with  those  of  the  spectator,  are  founded  "  the  great,  the 
awful,  and  respectable  virtues,  the  virtues  of  self-denial,  of 
self-government,  of  that  command  of  the  passions  which 
subjects  all  movements  of  our  nature  to  what  our  own 
dignity  and  honor,  and  the  propriety  of  our  own  conduct, 
require."  *  If  the  word  qualities  were  substituted  for  vir- 
tues, I  agree  in  general  with  this  doctrine.  The  mode  of 
expression,  however,  certainly  requires  correction.  "  Can- 
did condescension,"  and  "  indulgent  humanity  "  are  al- 
ways amiable  ;  and  when  they  really  proceed  from  a  dis- 
position habitually  benevolent,  are  with  great  propriety 
called  virtues.  "Self-denial  and  self-government"  are 

•  Jbid.,  Chap.  v. 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  237 

always  respectable,  and  sometimes  awful  qualities,  be- 
cause they  indicate  a  force  of  mind  which  few  men  pos- 
sess ;  but  it  depends  on  the  motives  from  which  they  are 
exercised,  whether  they  indicate  a  virtuous  or  a  vicious 
character. 

Asa  further  illustration  of  the  foregoing  doctrine,  Mr. 
Smith  considers  particularly  the  degrees  of  the  different 
passions  which  are  consistent  with  propriety,  and  en- 
deavours to  show,  that  in  every  case  it  is  decent  or  in- 
decent to  express  a  passion  strongly,  according  as  man- 
kind are  disposed  or  not  disposed  to  sympathize  with  it. 
It  is  unbecoming,  for  example,  to  express  strongly  any  of 
those  passions  which  arise  from  a  certain  condition  of  the 
body  ;  because  other  men  who  are  not  in  the  same  condi- 
tion cannot  be  expected  to  sympathize  with  them.  It  is 
unbecoming  to  cry  out  with  bodily  pain,  because  the  sym- 
pathy felt  by  the  spectator  bears  no  proportion  to  the 
acuteness  of  what  is  felt  by  the  sufferer.  The  case  is 
somewhat  similar  with  those  passions  which  take  their  ori- 
gin from  a  particular  turn  or  habit  of  the  imagination.  * 

All  violent  expressions  of  such  passions  are  undoubt- 
edly offensive,  and  good  breeding  dictates  that  they  should 
be  restrained  ;  but  not  because  the  spectator  finds  it  dif- 
ficult to  enter  into  the  situation  of  the  person  principally 
concerned  ;  perhaps  the  opposite  reason  would  be  nearer 
the  truth.  To  eat  voraciously  in  the  presence  of  a  com- 
pany who  have  already  dined  would  be  obviously  inde- 
cent ;  but  I  apprehend,  not  so  much  so  as  to  eat  even 
moderately  in  presence  of  one  whom  we  knew  to  be  hun- 
gry, and  who  was  not  permitted  to  share  in  the  repast. 
With  respect  to  bodily  pain,  it  appears  to  me  that  there 
is  no  calamity  whatever  which  so  completely  interests  the 
spectator,  or  with  which  his  sympathy  is  so  acute  and 
lively.  It  is  on  this  account  that  a  steady  composure 
under  it,  while  it  indicates  the  manly  quality  of  self-com- 
mand, has  something  in  it  peculiarly  amiable,  when  we 
suppose  that  it  proceeds  in  any  degree  from  a  tenderness 
for  the  feelings  of  others.  In  many  surgical  operations  it 
is  probable  that  the  imagination  of  the  pain  exceeds  the 

*  Ibid.,  Sect.  ii.  Chap.  i. 


238  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

reality  ;  and  there  cannot  be  a  doubt,  that,  where  the 
patient  is  the  object  of  our  love,  the  sufferings  which  he 
•feels  require  less  fortitude  than  ours. 

Again,  in  the  case  of  the  unsocial  passions  of  "  hatred 
and  resentment,"  the  sympathy  of  the  spectator  "  is  divid- 
ed "  between  the  person  who  feels  the  passion  and  the 
person  who  is  the  object  of  it.  "  We  are  concerned  for 
both,  and  our  fear  for  what  the  one  may  suffer  damps  our 
resentment  for  what  the  other  has  suffered."  Hence  the 
imperfect  degree  in  which  we  sympathize  with  such  pas- 
sions, and  the  propriety,  when  under  their  influence,  of 
moderating  their  expression  to  a  much  greater  degree  than 
in  the  case  of  any  other  emotions.* 

Abstraction  made  of  all  considerations  of  this  kind,  satis- 
factory reasons  may  be  given  for  our  listening  with  caution 
to  the  dictates  of  resentment  when  we  ourselves  are  the 
sufferers.  Experience  must  soon  satisfy  us  how  apt  this 
passion  is  to  blind  the  judgment,  and  to  exaggerate  in  our 
estimation  the  injury  we  have  received  ;  and  how  cer- 
tainly we  lay  in  matter  for  future  remorse  for  our  cooler 
hours,  if  we  obey  its  first  suggestions.  A  wise  man, 
therefore,  learns  to  delay  forming  his  resolutions  till  his 
passion  has  in  some  degree  subsided  ;  —  not  in  order  to 
obtain  the  sympathy  of  other  men,  but  in  order  to  secure 
the  approbation  of  his  own  conscience.  If  he  conceives 
to  himself  what  conduct  the  impartial  spectator  will  ap- 
prove of,  it  is  merely  as  an  expedient  to  divest  himself  of 
the  partialities  of  self-love  ;  and  when  he  acts  agreeably 
to  what  he  supposes  to  be,  on  this  occasion,  the  unbiased 
judgment  of  spectators,  his  satisfaction  arises,  not  from  the 
possession  of  their  sympathy,  but  from  a  consciousness 
that  he  has  done  his  best  to  ascertain  what  was  right,  and 
has  regulated  his  conduct  accordingly. 

"  Where  there  is  no  envy  in  the  case,  our  propensity 
to  sympathize  with  joy  is  much  stronger  than  our  propen- 
sity to  sympathize  with  sorrow." 

"  It  is  on  account  of  this  dull  sensibility  to  the  afflic- 
tions of  others,  that  magnanimity,  amidst  great  distress, 
always  appears  so  divinely  graceful."! 

*  Ibid.,  Chap.  iii.  t  Ibid.,  Sect.  iii.  Chap.  i. 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  239 

If  this  were  true,  would  it  not  follow  that  the  admira- 
tion of  heroic  magnanimity  would  be  in  proportion  to  the 
insensibility  of  the  spectator  ? 

41  Finally,  it  is  because  mankind  are  more  disposed  to 
court  the  favor,  to  comply  with  the  humors,  and  to  judge 
with  indulgence  the  actions,  of  the  prosperous  than  of 
the  unfortunate,  that  we  make  parade  of  our  riches,  and 
conceal  our  poverty." —  "  It  is  the  misfortunes  of  kings 
alone,"  Mr.  Smith  adds,  "  which  afford  the  proper  sub- 
jects for  tragedy."  * 

Of  this  last  proposition  I  confess  I  have  some  doubts, 
at  least  to  the  extent  in  which  it  is  here  stated  ;  and  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  in  those  cases  where  it  holds,  it  may 
be  easily  accounted  for  on  more  obvious  principles.  By 
far  the  greater  numer  of  tragedies  are  founded  on  histori- 
cal facts  ;  and  history  records  only  the  transactions  of 
men  in  elevated  stations.  But  even  in  these  tragedies  the 
most  interesting  personages  are  frequently  domestics  or 
captives.  The  old  shepherd  in  Douglas  is  surely  a  more 
interesting  character  than  Lord  Randolph.  And  for  my 
own  part  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  I  have  shed 
more  tears  at  some  tragedies  bourgeoises  and  comedies 
larmoyantes  of  very  inferior  merit,  than  were  ever  extort- 
ed from  me  by  the  exquisite  poetry  of  Corneille,  Racine, 
or  Voltaire. 

The  fortunes  of  the  great,  indeed,  interest  us  more  than 
those  of  men  in  inferior  stations.  But  for  this  there  are 
various  causes,  independent  of  that  assigned  by  Mr.  Smith. 
1.  Their  destiny  involves  the  fortunes  of  many,  and  fre- 
quently affects  the  public  interest.  2.  Their  situation 
points  them  out  to  public  attention,  and  renders  them  sub- 
jects of  general  and  daily  conversation  ;  and,  accordingly, 
we  may  remark  a  curiosity  perfectly  analogous  to  that 
which  the  history  of  the  great  excites  with  respect  to  the 
biography  of  all  men  who  have  been  long  and  constantly 
in  the  view  of  the  world.  The  trifling  anecdotes  in  the 
life  of  Quin  or  Garrick  find  as  many  readers  as  the 
important  events  connected  with  the  history  of  Frederic 
the  Great. 

*  Ibid.,  Chap.  ii. 


240  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

V.    Historical  Notices  of  the  Doctrine.]      In  my  Ac- 
count of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Mr.  Smith,  I  observ- 
ed, that,  according  to  the  learned  translator  of  Aristotle's 
Ethics  and  Politics,  "  the  general  idea  which  runs  through 
Mr.  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments  was  obviously 
borrowed  from  the  following  passage  of  Polybius.    '  From 
the  union  of  the  two  sexes,  to  which  all  are  naturally  in- 
clined, children  are  born.      When  any  of  these,  therefore, 
being  arrived  at  perfect  age,  instead  of  yielding  suitable 
returns  of  gratitude  and  assistance  to  those  by  whom  they 
have  been  bred,  on  the  contrary  attempt  to  injure  them 
by  words  or  actions,  it  is  manifest  that  those  who  behold 
the  wrong,  after  having  also  seen  the  sufferings  and  the 
anxious  cares  that  were  sustained  by  the  parents  in  the 
nourishment   and    education   of  their  children,   must    be 
greatly  offended  and  displeased  at  such  proceeding.     For 
man,  who,  among  all  the  various  kinds  of  animals,  is  alone 
endowed  with  the  faculty  of  reason,  cannot,  like  the  rest, 
pass  over  such  actions,  but  will  make  reflection  on  what 
he  sees  ;  and,  comparing  likewise  the  future  with  the  pres- 
ent, will  not  fail  to  express  his  indignation  at  this  injurious 
treatment  ;  to  which,  as  he  foresees,  he  may  also  at  some 
time  be  exposed.     Thus  again,  when  any  one  who  has 
been  succoured  by  another  in  the  time  of  danger,  instead 
of  showing  the  like  kindness  to  his  benefactor,  endeavours 
at  any  time  to  destroy  or  hurt  him,  it  is  certain  that  all 
men  must  be  shocked  by  such  ingratitude,  through  sym- 
pathy with  the  resentment  ef  their  neighbour,  and  from  an 
apprehension  also  that  the  case  may  be  their  own.     And 
from  hence  arises  in  the  mind  of  every  man  a  certain  no- 
tion of  the  nature  and  force  of  duty,  in  which  consists  both 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  justice.     In  like  manner,  the 
man  who,  in  defence  of  others,  is  seen  to  throw  himself 
the  foremost  into  every  danger,  and  even  to  sustain  the 
fury  of  the  fiercest  animals,  never  fails  to  obtain  the  loud- 
est acclamations  of  applause  and  veneration  from  all  the 
multitude,  while  he  who  shows  a  different  conduct  is  pur- 
sued with  censure  and  reproach.      And  thus  it  is  that  the 
people  begin  to  discern  the  nature  of  things  honorable  and 
base,  and  in  what  consists  the  difference  between  them  ; 
and  to  perceive  that  the  former,  on  account  of  the  advan- 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  241 

tage  that  attends  them,  are  fit  to  be  admired  and  imitated, 
and  the  latter  to  be  detested  and  avoided.'  "  * 

"  The  doctrine,"  says  Dr.  Gillies,  "  contained  in  this 
passage  is  expanded  by  Dr.  Smith  into  a  theory  of  moral 
sentiments.  But  he  departs  from  his  author  in  placing 
the  perception  of  right  and  wrong  in  sentiment  or  feeling, 
ultimately  and  simply.  Polybius,  on  the  contrary,  main- 
tains, with  Aristotle,  that  these  notions  arise  from  reason 
or  intellect  operating  on  affection  or  appetite  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  that  the  moral  faculty  is  a  compound,  and  may  be 
resolved  into  two  simpler  principles  of  the  mind."f 

The  only  expression  I  object  to  in  the  preceding  sen- 
tences is  the  phrase  his  author,  which  has  the  appearance 
of  insinuating  a  charge  of  plagiarism  against  Mr.  Smith  ;  — 
a  charge  which,  I  am  confident,  he  did  not  deserve,  and 
to  which  the  above  extract  does  not,  in  my  opinion,  afford 
any  plausible  color.  It  exhibits,  indeed,  an  instance  of 
a  curious  coincidence  between  two  philosophers  in  their 
views  of  the  same  subject,  and  as  such  I  have  no  doubt 
that  Mr.  Smith  himself  would  have  remarked  it,  had  it 
occurred  to  his  memory  when  he  was  writing  his  book. 
Of  such  accidental  coincidences  between  different  minds, 
examples  present  themselves  every  day  to  those  who, 
after  having  drawn  from  their  internal  resources  all  the 
lights  they  could  supply  on  a  particular  question,  have  the 
curiosity  to  compare  their  own  conclusions  with  those  of 
their  predecessors.  And  it  is  extremely  worthy  of  obser- 
vation, that,  in  proportion  as  any  conclusion  approaches 
to  fhe  truth,  the  number  of  previous  approximations  to  it 
may  be  reasonably  expected  to  be  multiplied. 

In  the  instance  before  us,  however,  the  question  about 
originality  is  of  little  or  no  moment,  for  the  peculiar  merit 
of  Mr.  Smith's  work  does  not  lie  in  his  general  principle, 
but  in  the  skilful  use  he  has  made  of  it  to  give  a  systemati- 
cal arrangement  to  the  most  important  discussions  and 
doctrines  of  ethics.  In  this  point  of  view,  the  Theory  of 
Moral  Sentiments  may  be  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the 
most  original  efforts  of  the  human  mind  in  that  branch  of 

*  Lib.  VI.  Cap.  vi.,  Hampton's  translation.          * 
t  Gillies's  Aristot.  Ethics,  Book  III.  Chap,  iv.,  note. 

21 


242  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

science  to  which  it  relates  ;  and  even  if  we  were  to  sup- 
pose that  it  was  first  suggested  to  the  author  by  a  remark 
of  which  the  world  had  been  in  possession  for  two  thousand 
years  before,  this  very  circumstance  would  only  reflect  a 
stronger  lustre  on  the  novelty  of  his  design,  and  on  the  in- 
vention and  taste  displayed  in  its  execution. 

In  the  same  work  I  have  observed,  that,  "  in  studying 
the  connection  and  filiation  of  successive  theories,  when 
we  are  at  a  loss  in  any  instance  for  a  link  to  complete  the 
continuity  of  philosophical  speculation,  it  seems  mu.cn 
more  reasonable  to  search  for  it  in  the  systems  of  the  im- 
mediately preceding  period,  and  in  the  inquiries  which  then 
occupied  the  public  attention,  than  in  detached  sentences, 
or  accidental  expressions  gleaned  from  the  relics  of  distant 
ages.  It  is  thus  only  that  we  can  hope  to  seize  the  pre- 
cise point  of  view  in  which  an  author's  subject  first  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  attention,  and  to  account  to  our  own 
satisfaction,  from  the  particular  aspect  under  which  he  saw 
it,  for  the  subsequent  direction  which  was  given  to  his 
curiosity.  In  following  such  a  plan,  our  object  is  not  to 
detect  plagiarisms,  which  we  suppose  men  of  genius  to 
have  intentionally  concealed,  but  to  fill  up  an  apparent 
chasm  in  the  history  of  science,  by  laying  hold  of  the 
thread  which  insensibly  guided  the  mind  from  one  station 
to  another."  Upon  these  principles  our  attention  is  natu- 
rally directed  on  the  present  occasion  to  the  inquiries  of 
Dr.  Butler,  in  preference  to  those  of  any  other  author, 
ancient  or  modern.  At  the  time  when  Mr.  Smith  began 
his  literary  career,  Butler  unquestionably  stood  highest 
among  the  ethical  writers  of  England  ;  and  his  works  ap- 
pear to  have  produced  a  still  deeper  and  more  lasting  im- 
pression in  Scotland  than  in  the  other  part  of  the  island. 
Of  the  esteem  in  which  they  were  held  by  Lord  Kames 
and  Mr.  Hume,  satisfactory  documents  remain  in  their 
published  letters  ;  nor  were  his  writings  less  likely  to  at- 
tract the  notice  of  Mr.  Smith,  in  consequence  of  the  point- 
ed and  unanswerable  objections  which  they  contain  to  some 
of  the  favorite  opinions  of  his  predecessor,  Dr.  Hutcheson. 

VI.  Butler's  Views  on  this  Subject.]  The  probability 
of  this  conjecture  is  confirmed  by  the  obvious  and  easy 


SYMPATHY.  ADAM    SMITH.  243 

transition  which  connects  the  theory  of  sympathy  with 
Butler's  train  of  thinking  in  his  Sermon  On  Self-deceit. 
In  order  to  free  the  mind  from  the  influence  of  its  artifices, 
experience  gradually  teaches  us,  (as  Butler  has  excellently 
shown,)  either  to  recollect  the  judgments  we  have  for- 
merly passed  in  similar  circumstances  on  the  conduct  of 
others,  or  to  state  cases  to  ourselves,  in  which  we  and  all 
our  personal  concerns  are  left  entirely  out  of  the  question. 
Hence  it  was  not  an  unnatural  inference,  on  the  first  aspect 
of  the  fact,  that  our  only  ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  with 
respect  to  our  own  conduct,  are  derived  from  our  senti- 
ments with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  others.  This,  ac- 
cordingly, (as  we  have  already  seen,)  is  the  distinguishing 
principle  of  Mr.  Smith's  theory. 

I  have  formerly  referred  to  a  note  in  Butler's  fifth  Ser- 
mon, in  which  he  has  exposed  the  futility  of  Hobbes's 
definition  of  pity.  In  the  same  note,  it  is  remarked  further 
by  the  very  acute  and  profound  author,  that  Hobbes's 
premises,  if  admitted  to  be  sound,  so  far  from  establishing 
his  favorite  doctrine  concerning  the  selfish  nature  of  man, 
would  afford  an  additional  illustration  of  the  provision  made 
in  his  constitution  for  the  establishment  and  maintenance 
of  the  social  union.  "If  there  be  really  any  such  thing 
as  the  fiction  or  imagination  of  danger  to  ourselves  from 
sight  of  the  miseries  of  others,  which  Hobbes  speaks  of, 
and  which  he  has  absurdly  mistaken  for  the  whole  of  com- 
passion,—  if  there  be  any  thing  of  this  sort  common  to 
mankind  distinct  from  the  reflection  of  reason,  it  would  be 
a  most  remarkable  instance  of  what  was  farthest  from  his 
thoughts,  namely,  of  a  mutual  sympathy  between  each 
particular  of  the  species,  —  a  fellow-feeling  common  to 
mankind.  It  would  not,  indeed,  be  an  instance  of  our  sub- 
stituting others  for  ourselves,  but  it  would  be  an  example 
of  our  substituting  ourselves  for  others,"  To  those  who 
are  at  all  acquainted  with  Mr.  Smith's  book,  it  is  unneces- 
sary for  me  to  observe  how  very  precisely  Butler  has  here 
touched  on  the  general  fact  which  is  assumed  as  the  basis 
of  the  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments. 

In  various  other  parts  of  Butler's  writings  jhere  are 
manifest  anticipations  of  Mr.  Smith's  ethical  speculations. 
In  his  Sermon,  for  example,  On  Forgiveness  of  Injuries, 


244  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

he  expresses  himself  thus  : — "  Without  knowing  par- 
ticulars, I  take  upon  me  to  assure  all  persons  who  think 
they  have  received  indignities  or  injurious  treatment,  that 
they  may  depend  upon  it,  as  in  a  manner  certain,  that  the 
offence  is  not  so  great  as  they  themselves  imagine.  We 
are  in  such  a  peculiar  situation,  with  respect  to  injuries 
done  to  ourselves,  that  we  can  scarce  any  more  see  them 
as  they  really  are  than  our  eye  can  see  itself.  If  we  could 
place  ourselves  at  a  due  distance,  (that  is,  be  really  un- 
prejudiced,) we  should  frequently  discern  that  to  be  in 
reality  inadvertence  and  mistake  in  our  enemy,  which  we 
now  fancy  we  see  to  be  malice  or  scorn.  From  this 
proper  point  of  view  we  should  likewise,  in  all  probability, 
see  something  of  these  latter  in  ourselves,  and  most  cer- 
tainly a  great  deal  of  the  former.  Thus  the  indignity  or 
injury  would  almost  infinitely  lessen,  and  perhaps  at  last 
come  out  to  be  nothing  at  all.  Self-love  is  a  medium  of 
a  peculiar  kind  ;  in  these  cases  it  magnifies  every  thing 
which  is  amiss  in  others,  at  the  same  time  that  it  lessens 
every  thing  amiss  in  ourselves." 

The  following  passage  in  Butler's  Sermon  On  Self-de- 
ceit, is  still  more  explicit.  "  It  would  very  much  prevent 
our  being  misled  by  this  self-partiality,  to  reduce  that  prac- 
tical rule  of  our  Saviour —  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  do  them  —  to  our  judgment 
or  way  of  thinking.  This  rule,  you  see,  consists  of  two 
parts.  One  is  to  substitute  another  for  yourself  when  you 
take  a  survey  of  any  part  of  your  behaviour,  or  consider 
what  is  proper  and  fit  and  reasonable  for  you  to  do  upon 
any  occasion  ;  the  other  part  is,  that  you  substitute  your- 
self in  the  room  of  another,  —  consider  yourself  as  the  per- 
son affected  by  such  a  behaviour,  or  towards  whom  such 
an  action  is  done,  and  then  you  would  not  only  see,  but 
likewise  feel,  the  reasonableness  or  unreasonableness  of 
such  an  action  or  behaviour."* 

*  The  same  idea  is  stated  with  great  clearness  and  conciseness  by 
Hobbes.  "There  is  an  easy  rule  to  know  upon  a  sudden,  whether  the 
action  I  be  to  do  be  against  the  law  of  nature  or  not.  And  it  is  but 
this,  —  That  a  man  imagine  himself  in  the  place  of  the  party  with  whom 
he  hath  to  do,  and  reciprocally  him  in  nit.  Which  is  no  more  but 
changing  (as  it  were)  of  the  scales;  for  every  man's  passion  weigheth 
heavy  in  his  own  scale,  but  not  in  the  scale  of  his  neighbour.  And  this 


RIDICULE.  245 

SECTION  III. 

OF    THE    SENSE    OF    THE    RIDICULOUS. 

I.  Objects  of  Ridicule.']  Another  auxiliary  principle 
to  the  moral  faculty  yet  remains  to  be  considered,  —  the 
sense  of  ridicule,  and  the  anxiety  which  all  men  feel  to 
avoid  whatever  is  likely  to  render  them  the  objects  of  it. 
The  subject  is  extremely  curious  and  interesting  ;  but  the 
time  I  have  bestowed  on  the  former  article  obliges  me  to 
confine  myself  to  a  very  short  explanation  of  the  meaning 
of  the  word,  and  of  the  relation  which  the  principle  denot- 
ed by  it  bears  to  our  nobler  motives  of  action. 

The  natural  and  proper  object  of  ridicule  is  those  smaller 
improprieties  in  character  and  manners  which  do  not  rouse 
our  feelings  of  moral  indignation,  or  impress  us  with  a 
melancholy  sense  of  human  depravity.  In  the  words  of 
Aristotle,  TO  ydkoior,  or  the  ridiculous,  may  be  defined  to 
be  TO  alaxo?  avudwov,  the  deformed  without  hurt  or  mis- 
chief, or  (as  he  has  explained  his  own  meaning)  "those 
smaller  faults  which  are  neither  painful  nor  pernicious,  but 
unbeseeming"  ;  and  "of  which, "he  adds,  "the  proper 
correction  is  not  reproach,  but  laughter." 

In  stating  this  as  a  general  principle  with  respect  to  the 
ridiculous,  I  would  not  be  understood  to  assert  that  every 
thing  which  is  ridiculous  implies  immorality,  in  the  strict 
acceptation  of  that  word.  Ignorance,  absurdity  in  reason- 
ing, even  a  want  of  acquaintance  with  the  established 
ceremonial  of  behaviour,  often  provoke  our  laughter  with 
irresistible  force.  What  is  ridiculous,  however,  always 
implies  some  imperfection,  and  exposes  the  individual  to 
whom  it  attaches  to  a  species  of  contempt,  of  which  (how 

rule  is  very  well  known  and  expressed  in  the  old  dictate,  Quod  tibi  fieri 
non  vis,  alteri  nefeceris." —  De  Corpore  Politico,  Chap.  IV. 

It  is  observed  by  Gibbon  that  this  golden  rule  of  doing  as  we  would 
be  done  by  is  to  be  found  in  a  moral  treatise  of  Isocrates. — Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Chap.  LIV.,  note. 

[For  other  critical  notices  of  Adam  Smith's  theory,  see  Brown's  Phi- 
losophy of  the  Human  Mind,  Lect.  LXXX.  and  LXXXI.     Cousin,  Phi- 
losophic  Morale,   Seconde    Partie  :    Ecole  Ecossaise,  Lecons  IV. -VI. 
Jouffroy's  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Lectures  XVI. -XVIII.] 
21  * 


246  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

good-humored  soever)  no  man  would  choose  to  be  the 
object. 

Perhaps,  indeed,  it  might  be  found,  on  a  more  accurate 
analysis  of  this  part  of  our  constitution,  that  it  is  not,  in 
such  cases,  merely  the  intellectual  or  physical  defect  which 
excites  our  ridicule,  but  the  contrast  between  these  and 
some  moral  impropriety  or  imperfection,  which  either  con- 
ceals the  defect  from  the  individual  himself,  or  induces 
him  to  attempt  concealing  it  from  others  ;  and  conse- 
quently that  the  sentiment  of  ridicule  always  involves, 
more  or  less,  a  sentiment  of  moral  disapprobation.  One 
thing  is  certain,  that  intellectual  and  physical  imperfections 
never  appear  so  ridiculous  as  when  accompanied  with 
affectation,  hypocrisy,  vanity,  pride,  or  an  obvious  incon- 
gruity between  the  pretensions  of  an  individual  and  the 
education  he  has  received,  or  the  station  in  which  he  was 
originally  placed. 

Upon  this  question,  however,  I  shall  not  at  present  pre- 
sume to  decide.  It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose,  if  it  be 
granted  that  nothing  is  ridiculous  but  what  falls  short, 
some  way  or  other,  of  our  ideas  of  excellence ;  or,  (as 
Cicero  expresses  it,)  "  Locus  et  regio  quasi  ridiculi,  tur- 
piludine  et  deformitate  quadam  continetur."  * 

II.  Final  Cause  of  this  Principle.]  Hence,  I  think, 
may  be  traced  a  beautiful  Jinal  cause  in  this  part  of  our 
frame.  For  while  it  enlarges  the  fund  of  our  enjoyment, 
by  rendering  the  more  trifling  imperfections  of  our  fellow- 
creatures  a  source  of  amusement  to  us,  it  excites  the  ex- 
ertions of  every  individual  to  correct  those  imperfections 
by  which  the  ridicule  of  others  is  likely  to  be  provoked. 
As  our  eagerness,  too,  to  correct  these  imperfections  may 
be  presumed  to  be  weak  in  proportion  as  we  apprehend 
them  to  be,  in  a  moral  cj'ew,  of  trifling  moment,  we  are 
so  formed,  that  the  painful  feelings  produced  by  ridicule 
are  often  more  poignant  than  those  arising  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  rendered  ourselves  the  objects  of 
strong  moral  disapprobation.  Even  the  consciousness  of 

*  De  Oratore,  Lib.  II.  58.  "  The  place  and,  aa  it  were,  province  of 
ridicule  is  confined  to  baseness  and  deformity." 


RIDICULE.  247 

being  hated  by  mankind  is  to  the  generality  of  men  less  in- 
tolerable than  what  the  poet  calls 

"  The  world's  dread  laugh, 
Which  scarce  the  firm  philosopher  can  scorn." 

It  furnishes  no  objection  to  these  observations,  that  the 
sense  of  ridicule  is  not  always  favorable  to  virtuous  con- 
duct ;  and  that  it  frequently  tends  very  powerfully  to  mis- 
lead us  from  our  duty.  The  same  remark  may  be  ex- 
tended to  the  desire  of  esteem,  and  even  to  the  moral  fac- 
ulty, —  that  they  are  liable  to  be  perverted  by  education 
and  fashion.  But  the  great  ends  of  our  being  are  to  be 
collected  from  the  general  scope  of  the  principles  of  our 
constitution  ;  not  from  the  particular  instances  in  which 
this  scope  is  thwarted  by  adventitious  circumstances  ;  and 
nothing  surely  can  be  more  evident  than  this,  that  the 
three  principles  just  mentioned  were  all  intended  to  co- 
operate together,  and  to  lead  to  a  conduct  favorable  to  the 
improvement  of  the  individual,  and  to  the  general  interests 
of  society. 

The  sense  of  ridicule,  in  particular,  although  it  has  a 
manifest  reference  to  such  a  scene  of  imperfection  as  we 
are  placed  in  at  present,  is,  on  the  whole,  a  most  impor- 
tant auxiliary  to  our  sense  of  duty,  and  well  deserves  a 
careful  examination  in  an  analysis  of  the  moral  constitu- 
tion of  man.  It  is  one  of  the  most  striking  characteristics 
of  the  human  constitution,  as  distinguished  from  that  of 
the  lower  animals,  and  has  an  intimate  connection  with 
the  highest  and  noblest  principles  of  our  nature.  As  Mil- 
ton has  observed,  — 

"  Smiles  from  reason  flow, 
To  brutes  denied  " ; 

and  it  may  be  added,  that  they  not  only  imply  the  power  of 
reason,  in  the  more  limited  acceptation  of  that  word,  as 
applicable  to  the  perception  of  truth  and  falsehood,  but 
the  moral  faculty,  or  that  power  by  which  we  distinguish 
right  from  wrong.  Indeed,  they  imply  the  power  of  rea- 
son (in  both  acceptations  of  the  term)  in  a  high  state  of 
cultivation. 

In  the  education  of  youth,  there  is  nothing  which  re- 
quires more  serious  attention  than  the  proper  regulation  of 


248  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

the  sense  of  ridicule  ;  nor  is  there  any  instance  in  which 
the  legislator  has  it  more  in  his  power  to  influence  national 
manners,  than  by  watching  over  those  public  exhibitions 
which  avail  themselves  of  this  principle  of  human  nature, 
as  a  vehicle  of  entertainment  to  the  multitude. 


SECTION  IV. 

OF    TASTE,    CONSIDERED    IN    ITS    RELATION    TO    MORALS. 

I.  Taste  applicable  to  J\forals.]  From  the  explanation 
formerly  given  of  the  import  of  the  phrases  moral  beauty 
and  moral  deformity,  it  may  be  easily  conceived  in  what 
manner  the  character  and  the  conduct  of  our  fellow-crea- 
tures may  become  subservient  to  the  gratification  of  taste. 
The  use  which  the  poet  makes  of  this  class  of  our  intel- 
lectual pleasures  is  entirely  analogous  to  the  resources 
which  he  borrows  from  the  cljarms  of  external  nature. 
By  skilful  selections  and  combinations,  characters  more 
exalted  and  more  pleasing  may  be  drawn  than  have  ever 
fallen  under  our  observation  ;  and  a  series  of  events  may 
be  exhibited  in  perfect  consonance  to  our  moral  feelings. 
Rewards  and  punishments  may  be  distributed  by  the  poet 
with  an  exact  regard  to  the  merits  of  individuals  ;  and 
those  irregularities  in  the  distribution  of  happiness  and 
misery,  which  furnish  the  subject  of  so  many  complaints 
in  real  life,  may  be  corrected  in  the  world  created  by  his 
genius.  Here,  too,  the  poet  borrows  from  nature  the 
model  after  which  he  copies,  not  only  as  he  accommodates 
his  imaginary  arrangements  to  his  unperverted  sense  of 
justice,  but  as  he  accommodates  them  to  the  general  laws 
by  which  the  world  is  governed  ;  for  whatever  exceptions 
may  occur  in  particular  cases,  there  can  be  no  more  doubt 
about  the  fact,  that  virtue  is  the  direct  road  to  happi- 
ness, and  vice  to  misery,  than  that,  in  the  material  world, 
blemishes  and  defects  are  lost  amid  prevailing  beauty  and 
order. 

The  power  of  moral  taste,  like  that  which  has  for  its 
object  the  beauty  of  material  forms  and  the  various  pro- 
ductions of  the  fine  arts,  requires  much  exercise  for  its  de- 
velopment and  culture.  The  one  species  of  taste,  also, 


MORAL    TASTE.  249 

as  well  as  the  other,  is  susceptible  of  a  false  refinement, 
injurious  to  our  own  happiness,  and  to  our  usefulness  as 
members  of  society. 

II.  Dangers  incident  to  a  false  Refinement  of  Moral 
Taste.]  With  this  false  refinement  of  taste  is  sometimes 
connected  the  peculiar  species  of  misanthropy  which  is 
grafted  on  a  worthy  and  benevolent  heart.  When  the 
standard  of  moral  excellence  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
dwell  upon  in  imagination  is  greatly  elevated  above  the 
common  attainments  of  humanity,  we  are  apt  to  become 
too  difficult  and  fastidious  (if  I  may  use  the  expression) 
in  our  moral  taste  ;  or,  in  plainer  language,  to  become  un- 
reasonably censorious  of  the  follies  and  vices  of  our  con- 
temporaries. In  such  cases,  it  may  happen  that  the  native 
benevolence  of  the  mind,  by  being  habitually  directed  to- 
wards ideal  characters,  may  prove  a  source  of  real  dissat- 
isfaction and  dislike  towards  those  with  whom  we  associate. 
Such  a  disposition,  when  carried  to  an  extreme,  not  only 
sours  the  temper,  and  dries  up  all  the  springs  of  innocent 
comfort  which  nature  has  so  liberally  provided  for  us  in 
the  common  incidents  of  life,  but,  by  withdrawing  a  man 
from  active  pursuits,  renders  all  his  talents  and  virtues  use- 
less to  society.  A  character  of  this  description  has  fur- 
nished fo  Moliere  the  subject  of  the  most  finished  of  all  his 
dramatic  pieces,  and  to  Marmontel,  of  one  of  his  most 
agreeable  and  useful  tales.  The  former  of  these  is  uni- 
versally known  as  the  masterpiece  of  French  comedy  ;  but 
the  latter  possesses  also  an  uncommon  degree  of  merit  by 
the  hints  it  suggests  for  curing  the  weaknesses  in  which 
the  character  originates,  and  by  the  interesting  contrast  it 
exhibits  between  the  misanthrope  of  Moliere,  and  a  man 
who  unites  inflexibility  of  principle  with  that  accommoda- 
tion of  temper  which  is  necessary  for  the  practical  ex- 
ercise of  virtue.  The  great  nurse  and  cherisher  of  this 
species  of  misanthropy  is  solitary  contemplation  ;  and  the 
only  effectual  remedy  is  society  and  business,  together 
with  a  habit  of  directing  the  attention  rather  to  the  correc- 
tion of  our  own  faults  than  to  a  jealous  and  suspicious  ex- 
amination of  the  motives  which  influence  the  conduct  of 
our  neighbours. 


250  AUXILIARY    PRINCIPLES. 

Considered  as  a  principle  of  action,  a  cultivated  moral 
taste,  while  it  provides  an  effectual  security  against  the 
grossness  necessarily  connected  with  many  vices,  cher- 
ishes a  temper  of  mind  friendly  to  all  that  is  amiable,  or 
generous,  or  elevated  in  our  nature.  When  separated, 
however,  as  it  sometimes  is,  from  a  strong  sense  of  duty, 
it  can  scarcely  fail  to  prove  a  fallacious  guide  ;  the  in- 
fluence of  fashion,  and  of  other  casual  associations,  tend- 
ing perpetually  to  lead  it  astray.  This  is  more  particu- 
larly remarkable  in  men  to  whom  the  gratifications  of  taste 
in  general  form  the  principal  object  of  pursuit,  and  whose 
habits  of  life  encourage  them  to  look  no  higher  for  their 
rule  of  conduct  than  the  way  of  the  world. 

The  language  employed  by  some  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers in  their  speculations  concerning  the  nature  of  virtue 
seems,  on  a  superficial  view,  to  imply  that  they  supposed 
the  moral  faculty  to  be  wholly  resolvable  into  a  sense  of 
the  beautiful ;  and  hence  Lord  Shaftesbury,  Dr.  Hutche- 
son,  and  others,  have  been  led  to  adopt  a  phraseology 
which  has  the  appearance  of  substituting  taste,  in  contra- 
distinction to  reason  and  conscience,  as  the  ultimate  stand- 
ard of  right  and  wrong. 

While  on  this  subject,  I  cannot  help  taking  notice  of  a 
highly  exceptionable  passage  which  occurs  in  one  of  Mr. 
Burke's  later  publications,  —  a  passage  in  which,  after 
contrasting  the  polished  and  courtly  manners  of  the  higher 
orders  with  the  coarseness  and  vulgarity  of  the  multitude, 
he  remarks,  that  among  the  former  "  vice  itself  lost  half 
its  evil  by  losing  all  its  grossness."*  The  fact,  ac- 
cording to  my  view  of  things,  is  precisely  the  reverse  ; 
that  the  malignant  contagiousness  of  vice  is  increased  ten- 
fold by  every  circumstance  which  draws  a  veil  over  or 
disguises  its  native  deformity.  On  this  argument  volumes 
might  be  written,  and  I  sincerely  wish  that  a  hand  could 
be  found  equal  to  the  task.  At  present,  I  must  content 
myself  with  recommending  it  to  the  serious  attention  of 
moralists,  as  one  of  the  most  important  topics  of  practical 
ethics  which  the  actual  circumstances  of  this  part  of  the 
world  point  out  as  an  object  of  philosophical  discussion. 

*  At  the  close  of  the  eloquent  description  of  the  queen,  in  his  Reflec- 
tions on  the  Revolution  in  France. 


FREE  AGENCY.  251 

CHAPTER     VI. 

OF    MAN'S    FREE     AGENCY. 

SECTION  I. 

PRELIMINARY    OBSERVATIONS. 

I.  .Man's  Free  JUgency  has  been  called  in  question  by 
Speculative  Minds.']  All  the  foregoing  inquiries  concern- 
ing the  moral  constitution  of  man  proceed  on  the  suppo- 
sition, that  he  has  a  freedom  of  choice  between  good  and 
evil,  and  that,  when  he  deliberately  performs  an  action 
which  he  knows  to  be  wrong,  he  renders  himself  justly 
obnoxious  to  punishment.  That  this  supposition  is  agree- 
able to  the  common  apprehensions  of  mankind  will  not  be 
disputed. 

From  very  early  times,  indeed,  the  truth  of  the  supposi- 
tion has  been  called  in  question  by  a  few  speculative  men, 
who  have  contended  that  the  actions  we  perform  are  the 
necessary  result  of  the  constitution  of  our  minds,  operated 
on  by  the  circumstances  of  our  external  situation  ;  and 
that  what  we  call  moral  delinquencies  are  as  much  a  part 
of  our  destiny  as  the  corporeal  or  intellectual  qualities  we 
have  received  from  nature.  The  argument  in  support  of 
this  doctrine  has  been  proposed  in  various  forms,  and  has 
been  frequently  urged  with  the  confidence  of  demonstra- 
tion.* 

This  question  about  predestination  and  free-will  has 
furnished,  in  all  ages  and  countries,  inexhaustible  matter 
of  contention,  both  to  philosophers  and  divines.  In  the 
ancient  schools  of  Greece  it  is  well  known  how  generally 
and  how  keenly  it  was  agitated.  Among  the  Mahometans 
it  constitutes  one  of  the  principal  points  of  division  be- 
tween the  followers  of  Omar  and  those  of  Ali  ;  and  among 

*  The  rest  of  this  chapter  was  thrown  by  the  author  into  an  ap- 
pendix. In  this  edition  it  is  inserted  in  its  place,  as  being  necessary  to 
the  discussion.  Some  retrenchments  have  been  made  in  order  to  find 
room  for  the  notes  which  are  intended  to  give  some  slight  intimations 
of  the  present  state  of  the  controversy.  — ED. 


252  FREE    AGENCY. 

the  ancient  Jews  it  was  the  subject  of  endless  dispute  be- 
tween the  Pharisees  and  the  Sadducees.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  for  me  to  add,  what  violent  controversies  it  has 
produced,  and  still  continues  to  produce,  in  the  Christian 
world. 

II.  Explanation  of  Terms  used  in  this  Controversy.] 
As  this  controversy,  like  most  others  in  metaphysics,  has 
been  involved  in  much  unnecessary  perplexity  by  the  am- 
biguity of  language,  a  few  brief  remarks  on  some  equivo- 
cal terms  connected  with  the  question  at  issue  may  perhaps 
add  something  to  the  perspicuity  and  precision  of  the  fol- 
lowing reasonings. 

1.  The  word  volition  is  defined  by  Locke  to  be  "  an 
act  of  the  mind,  knowingly  exerting  that  dominion  it  takes 
itself  to  have  over  any  part  of  the  man,  by  employing  it  in, 
or  withholding  it  from,  any  particular  action."*  Dr. 
Reid  defines  it  more  briefly  to  be  "  the  determination  of 
the  mind  to  do  or  not  to  do  something  which  we  conceive 
to  be  in  our  power."  He  remarks,  at  the  same  time, 
that  "  this  definition  is  not  strictly  logical,  inasmuch  as 
the  determination  of  the  mind  is  only  another  term  for 
volition.  But  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that  the  most  sim- 
ple acts  of  the  mind  do  not  admit  of  being  logically  defined. 
The  only  way  to  form  a  precise  notion  of  them  is  to  re- 
flect attentively  upon  them  as  we  feel  them  in  ourselves. 
Without  this  reflection  no  definition  can  enable  us  to  reason 
about  them  with  correctness."! 

2.  It  is  necessary  to  form  a  distinct  notion  of  what  is 
meant  by  the  word  volition,  in  order  to  understand  the  im- 
port of  the  word  will ;  for  this  last  word  properly  ex- 
presses that  power  of  the  mind  of  which  volition  is  the  act, 
and  it  is  only  by  attending  to  what  we  experience,  while 
we  are  conscious  of  the  act,  that  we  can  understand  any 
thing  concerning  the  nature  of  the  power. 

The  word  tci//,  however,  is  not  always  used  in  this  its 
proper  acceptation,  but  is  frequently  substituted  for  voli- 
tion ;  as  when  I  say  that  my  hand  moves  in  obedience  to 
my  will.  This,  indeed,  happens  to  the  names  of  most  of 

*  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Book  II.  Chap.  xxi.  §  15. 
t  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  II.  Chap.  i. 


PRELIMINARY    OBSERVATIONS.  253 

ihe  powers  of  the  mind,  —  that  the  same  word  is  employed 
to  express  the  power  and  the  act.  Thus  imagination  sig- 
nifies both  the  power  and  the  act  of  imagining  ;  abstraction 
signifies  both  the  power  and  the  act  of  abstracting  ;  and  so 
in  other  instances.  But  although  the  word  will  may,  with- 
out departing  from  the  usual  forms  of  speech,  be  used  in- 
discriminately for  the  power  and  the  act,  the  word  volition 
applies  only  to  the  latter  ;  and  it  would  undoubtedly  con- 
tribute to  the  distinctness  of  our  reasonings  to  restrict  the 
signification  of  the  word  will  entirely  to  the  former. 

It  is  not  necessary,  I  apprehend,  to  enlarge  any  more 
on  the  meaning  of  these  terms.  It  is  to  be  learned  only 
from  careful  reflection  on  what  passes  in  our  own  minds, 
and  to  multiply  words  upon  the  subject  would  only  involve 
it  in  obscurity. 

3.  There  is,  however,  a  state  of  the  mind  perfectly  dis- 
tinct both  from  the  power  and  the  act  of  willing,  with 
which  they  have  been  frequently  confounded,  and  of  which 
it  may  therefore  be  proper  to  mention  the  characteristical 
marks.  The  state  1  refer  to  is  properly  called  desire,  the 
distinction  between  which  and  will  was  first  clearly  point- 
ed out  by  Mr.  Locke.  "  I  find  the  icill,"  says  he,  "  often 
confounded  with  several  of  the  affections,  especially  desire, 
and  that  by  men  who  would  not  willingly  be  thought  not 
to  have  had  very  distinct  notions  of  things,  and  not  to  have 
writ  very  clearly  about  them."  —  "  This,"  he  justly  adds, 
"  has  been  no  small  occasion  of  obscurity  and  mistake  in 
this  matter,  and  therefore  is,  as  much  as  may  be,  to  be 
avoided."  The  substance  of  his  remarks  on  the  appro- 
priate meaning  of  these  two  terms  amounts  to  the  two  fol- 
lowing propositions:  —  1.  That  at  the  same  moment  a 
man  may  desire  one  thing  and  will  another.  2.  That  at 
the  same  moment  a  man  may  have  contrary  desires,  but 
canno^have  contrary  wills.  The  notions,  therefore,  which 
ought  to  be  annexed  to  the  words  will  and  desire  are  es- 
sentially different. 

It  will  be  proper,  however,  to  state  Mr.  Locke's  ob- 
servations in  his  own  words  :  —  "  He  that  shall  turn  his 
thoughts  inwards  upon  what  passes  in  his  own  mind  when 
he  wills,  shall  see  that  the  will  or  power  of  volition  is 
conversant  about  nothing  but  that  particular  determination 
22 


254  FREE    AGENCY. 

of  the  mind  whereby,  barely  by  a  thought,  the  mind  en- 
deavours to  give  rise,  continuation,  or  stop  to  any  action 
which  it  takes  to  be  in  its  power.  This,  well  considered, 
plainly  shows,  that  the  will  is  perfectly  distinguished  from 
desire,  which,  in  the  very  same  action,  may  have  a  quite 
contrary  tendency  from  that  which  our  wills  set  us  upon. 
A  man  whom  I  cannot  deny  may  oblige  me  to  use  per- 
suasions to  another,  which,  at  the  same  time  I  am  speak- 
ing, I  may  wish  not  to  prevail  on  him.  In  this  case,  it  is 
plain  the  will  and  desire  run  counter.  I  will  the  action 
that  tends  one  way,  whilst  my  desire  tends  another,  and 
that  the  direct  contrary.  A  man  who,  by  a  violent  fit  of 
gout  in  his  limbs,  finds  a  doziness  in  his  head,  or  a  want 
of  appetite  in  his  stomach,  removed,  desires  to  be  eased 
too  of  the  pain  of  his  feet  or  hands  (for  wherever  there  is 
pain  there  is  a  desire  to  be  rid  of  it)  ;  though  yet,  while 
he  apprehends  that  the  removal  of  the  pain  may  translate 
the  noxious  humors  to  a  more  vital  part,  his  will  is  never 
determined  to  any  one  action  that  may  serve  to  remove 
this  pain.  Whence  it  is  evident  that  desiring  and  willing 
are  two  distinct  acts  of  the  mind  ;  and,  consequently,  that 
the  will,  which  is  but  the  power  of  volition,  is  much  more 
distinct  from  desire."* 

It  is  surprising  how  little  this  important  passage  has  been 
attended  to  by  Locke's  successors. 

Dr.  Johnson  on  this,  as  on  every  other  occasion  where 
logical  precision  of  ideas  is  called  for  in  a  definition,  is 
strangely  indistinct  and  inconsistent.  Will  he  defines  to 
be  "  that  power  by  which  we  desire  and  purpose  "  ;  and 
he  gives  as  its  synonyme  the  scholastic  word  velleity.  On 
turning  to  the  article  velleity,  we  are  told  that  "it  is  the 
school  term  used  to  signify  the  lowest  degree  of  desire"; 
in  illustration  of  which  Dr.  South  is  quoted,  according  to 
whom  "  the  wishing  of  a  thing  is  not  properly  the  willing 
it,  but  it  is  that  which  is  called  by  the  schools  an  imperfect 
velleity,  and  imports  no  more  than  an  idle,  inoperative 
complacency  in  and  desire  of  the  end,  without  any  con- 
sideration of  tbe  means." 

4.  Instead  of  speaking  (according  to  common  phrase- 

*  Essay  concerning  Human  Understanding,  Book  II.  Chap.  zxi.  §  30. 


PRELIMINARY    OBSERVATIONS.  255 

ology)  of  the  influence  of  motives  on  the  will,  it  would  be 
much  more  correct  to  speak  of  the  influence  of  motives 
on  the  agent.  We  are  apt  to  forget  what  the  will  is, 
and  to  consider  it  as  something  inanimate  and  passive,  the 
state  of  which  can  be  altered  only  by  the  action  of  some 
external  cause.  The  habitual  use  of  the  metaphorical 
word  motives,  to  denote  the  intentions  or  purposes  which 
accompany  our  voluntary  actions,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
ends  which  we  have  in  view  in  the  exercise  of  the  power 
intrusted  to  us,  has  a  strong  tendency  to  con6rm  us  in  this 
error,  by  leading  us  to  assimilate  in  fancy  the  volition  of  a 
mind  to  the  motion  of  a  body,  and  the  circumstances 
which  give  rise  to  this  volition  to  the  vis  motrix  by  which 
the  motion  is  produced. 

It  is  probably  in  order  to  facilitate  the  reception  of  his 
favorite  scheme  of  necessity  that  Hobbes  was  led  to  sub- 
stitute, instead  of  the  old  division  of  our  faculties  into  the 
powers  of  the  understanding  and  those  of  the  will,  a  new 
division  of  his  own,  in  which  the  name  of  cognitive  powers 
was  given  to  the  former,  and  that  of  motive  powers  to  the 
latter.  To  familiarize  the  ears  of  superficial  readers  to 
this  phraseology  was  of  itself  one  great  step  towards  se- 
curing their  suffrages  against  the  supposition  of  man's  free 
agency.  To  say  that  the  will  is  determined  by  motive 
powers,  is  to  employ  a  language  which  virtually  implies  a 
recognition  of  the  very  point  in  dispute.  Accordingly, 
Mr.  Belsham  is  at  pains  to  keep  the  metaphorical  origin  of 
the  word  motive  in  the  view  of  his  readers,  by  prefixing  to 
his  argument  in  favor  of  the  scheme  of  necessity  the  fol- 
lowing definition  :  —  "Motive,  in  this  discussion,  is  to  be 
understood  in  its  most  extensive  sense.  It  expresses 
whatever  MOVES  or  influences  the  mind  in  its  choice."* 

5.  According  to  Mr.  Locke,  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  of 
power  are  very  nearly  the  same.  "  Every  one,"  he  ob- 
serves, "  finds  in  himself  a  power  to  begin  or  forbear,  con- 
tinue or  put  an  end  to,  several  actions  in  himself.  From 
the  consideration  of  the  extent  of  this  power  of  the  mind 
over  the  actions  of  the  man,  which  every  one  finds  in  him- 
self, arise  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  necessity."  And  a 

*  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Mind,  Chap.  IX.  Sect.  i. 


256  FREE    AGENCY. 

few  sentences  afterwards  :  —  "  The  idea  of  liberty  is  the 
idea  of  a  power  in  any  agent  to  do  or  forbear  any  particu- 
lar action,  according  to  the  determination  or  thought  of 
the  mind,  whereby  either  of  them  is  preferred  to  the  other. 
Where  either  of  them  is  not  in  the  power  of  the  agent,  to 
be  produced  by  him  according  to  his  volition,  there  he  is 
not  at  liberty  but  under  necessity."  *  That  these  defini- 
tions are  not  perfectly  correct  will  appear  hereafter.  They 
approach,  indeed,  very  nearly  to  the  definitions  of  liberty 
and  necessity  given  by  Hobbes,  Collins,  and  Edwards  ; 
whereas  Locke,  in  order  to  do  justice  to  his  own  decided 
opinion  on  the  subject,  ought  to  have  included  also  in  his 
idea  of  liberty  a  power  over  the  determinations  of  his  will. 
It  is  owing  in  a  great  measure  to  this  close  connection 
between  the  ideas  of  free-will  and  of  power,  and  to  the 
pleasure  with  which  the  consciousness  of  power  is  always 
accompanied,  that  we  feel  so  painful  a  mortification  in 
perusing  those  systems  in  which  our  free  agency  is  called 
in  question.  Dr.  Priestley  himself,  as  well  as  his  great 
oracle,  Dr.  Hartley,  has  acknowledged,  that  "  he  was  not 
a  ready  convert  to  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  and  that  he 
gave  up  his  liberty  with  great  reluctance."  f  But  whence 
this  reluctance  to  embrace  a  doctrine  so  "  great  and  glori- 
ous," but  from  its  repugnance  to  the  natural  feelings  and 
natural  wishes  of  the  human  mind  ? 


SECTION  II. 

REVIEW    OF    THE    ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY. 

I.  Concessions  by  the  Advocates  for  Free-will.]  Be- 
fore proceeding  to  an  examination  of  this  question,  I  shall 
premise  a  few  principles  in  which  both  parties  are  agreed, 
or  which  at  least  appear  to  me  to  be  concessions  which 
the  advocates  for  free-will  may  safely  make  to  their  an- 
tagonists without  any  injury  to  their  general  argument. 

1.  Every  action  is  performed  with  some  view,  or,  in 

*    Essay  concerning  Human    Understanding,   Book   II.   Chap.   xxi. 
§  §  7,  8. 
t  Doctrine  of  Philosophical  .\fccssity  Illustrated,  Preface. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  257 

other  words,  is  performed  from  some  motive.  Dr.  Reid, 
indeed,  denies  this  with  zeal,  but  I  am  doubtful  if  he  has 
strengthened  his  cause  by  doing  so ;  *  for  he  confesses 
that  the  actions  which  are  performed  without  motives  are 
perfectly  trifling  and  insignificant,  and  not  such  as  lead  to 
any  general  conclusion  concerning  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
moral  agents.  I  should  therefore  rather  be  disposed  to 
yield  this  point  than  to  dispute  a  proposition  not  materially 
connected  with  the  question  at  issue.  One  thing  is  clear 
and  indisputable,  that  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  a  man  acts 
from  motives  or  intentions,  that  he  is  entitled  to  the  char- 
acter of  a  rational  being. 

2.  The  merit  of  an  action  depends  entirely  on  the  mo- 
tive from  which  it  was  performed.  Dr.  Reid  remarks, 
that  some  necessitarians  have  triumphed  in  this  principle 
as  the  very  hinge  of  the  controversy,  whereas  the  truth  is, 
that  no  reasonable  advocate  for  free-will  ever  called  it  in 
question. 

It.  General  Statement  of  the  Argument  for  Necessity.] 
So  far,  I  think,  we  are  justified  in  going.  The  great 
question  is,  How  do  motives  influence  or  determine  the 
will  ?  In  answer  to  this  question  the  necessitarians  reason 
as  follows  :  — 

Every  change  in  nature,  we  are  told,  implies  the  opera- 
tion of  a  cause  ;  and  this  maxim,  it  is  pretended,  holds 
not  only  with  respect  to  inanimate  matter,  but  with  respect 
to  the  changes  which  take  place  in  the  state  of  a  mind. 
Every  volition,  therefore,  must  have  been  produced  by  a 
motive  with  which  it  is  as  necessarily  connected  as  any 
other  effect  with  its  cause  ;  and  when  different  motives 
are  presented  to  the  mind  at  the  same  time,  the  will  yields 
to  the  strongest,  as  necessarily  as  a  body  urged  by  two 
contrary  forces  moves  in  the  direction  of  that  which  is 
most  powerful. 

The  foregoing  argument  goes  to  prove,  that  all  human 
actions  are  as  necessarily  produced  by  motives  as  the 
going  of  a  clock  is  necessarily  produced  by  the  weights, 
and  that  no  human  action  could  have  been  otherwise  than 

*  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  IV.  Chap.  iv. 

22* 


258  FREE    AGENCY. 

it  really  was.  Nay,  it  applies  also  in  full  force  to  the 
Deity,  and  indeed  to  all  intelligent  beings  whatever  ;  for 
it  is  not  founded  on  any  thing  peculiar  to  the  human  mind, 
but  on  the  impossibility  of  free  agency;  and,  of  conse- 
quence, it  leads  to  this  general  conclusion,  that  no  event 
in  the  universe  could  have  happened  otherwise  than  it  did. 

Accordingly,  Dr.  Clarke  has  been  at  much,  pains  to 
prove  that  the  Deity  must  be  a  free  agent,  and  there- 
fore that  free  agency  is  not  impossible  ;  from  which  he 
infers  that  there  must  be  some  flaw  in  the  reasonings  just 
stated  to  prove  that  man  is  a  necessary  agent.*  Jf  this 
reasoning  of  Clarke's  be  admitted  as  conclusive,  where  is 
the  absurdity,  I  would  ask,  of  supposing  that  God  may 
have  been  pleased  to  place  man  in  a  state  of  moral  disci- 
pline, by  imparting  to  him  a  freedom  of  choice  between 
good  and  evil,  in  like  manner  as  he  has  imparted  to  him 
various  other  faculties  and  powers  essentially  different  from 
any  thing  we  observe  in  the  lower  animals  ?  Is  not  the 
contrary  assertion  a  presumptuous  attempt  to  set  limits  to 
the  Divine  Omnipotence  ? 

Among  the  various  forms  which  religious  enthusiasm 
assumes,  there  is  a  certain  prostration  of  the  mind,  which, 
under  the  specious  disguise  of  a  deep  humility,  aims  at 
exalting  the  Divine  perfections  by  annihilating  all  the 
powers  which  belong  to  human  nature.  "  Nothing  is  more 
usual  for  fervent  devotion,"  says  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
in  speaking  of  some  theories  current  among  the  Hin- 
doos, "  than  to  dwell  so  long  and  so  warmly  on  the 
meanness  and  worthlessness  of  created  things,  and  on  the 
all-sufficiency  of  the  Supreme  Being,  that  it  slides  insen- 
sibly from  comparative  to  absolute  language,  and,  in  the 
eagerness  of  its  zeal  to  magnify  the  Deity,  seems  to  anni- 
hilate every  thing  else." 

This  excellent  observation  may  serve  to  account  for 
the  zeal  displayed  by  many  devout  men  in  favor  of  the 
scheme  of  necessity.  "  We  have  nothing,"  they  frequently 
and  justly  remind  us,  "  but  what  we  have  received."  But 
the  question  here  is  simply  a  matter  of  fact,  whether  we 
have  or  have  not  received  from  God  the  gift  of  free-will  ; 

*  Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  Prop.  XII. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  259 

and  the  only  argument,  it  must  be  remembered,  which 
they  have  yet  been  able  to  advance  for  the  negative 
proposition  is,  that  this  gift  was  impossible  even  for  the 
power  of  God  ;  —  an  argument,  we  may  remark,  which  not 
only  annihilates  the  power  of  man,  but  annihilates  that  of 
God  also,  and  subjects  him,  as  well  as  all  his  creatures, 
to  the  control  of  causes  which  he  is  unable  to  resist.  So 
completely  does  this  scheme  defeat  the  pious  views  in 
which  it  has  sometimes  originated. 

I  say  sometimes ;  for  this  very  argument  against  the 
liberty  of  the  will  is  employed  by  Spinoza,  according  to 
whom  the  free  agency  of  man  involves  the  absurd  supposi- 
tion of  an  imperium  in  imperio  in  the  universe.*  Voltaire, 
too,  —  who  in  his  latter  days,  abandoning  those  principles 
for  which  he  had  before,  when  in  the  full  vigor  of  his  fac- 
ulties, so  zealously  and  eloquently  contended,  seems  to 
have  become  a  convert  to  the  scheme  of  fatalism,  —  has  on 
one  occasion  had  recourse  to  an  argument  against  man's 
free  agency  similar  in  substance  to  what  is  advanced  by 
Spinoza  in  the  passage  now  referred  to.  "  En  effet,  il 
seroit  bien  singulier  que  toute  la  nature,  tous  les  astres 
obeissent  a  des  loix  eternelles,  et  qu'il  y  cut  un  petit 
animal  haut  de  cinq  pieds,  qui  en  mepris  de  ces  lois  put 
agir  toujours  comme  il  lui  plairoit  au  seul  gre  de  son  ca- 
price." f  "  Singular  !  "  exclaims  Dr.  Beattie,  after  quot- 
ing the  preceding  sentence  ;  "  ay,  singular  indeed,  —  but 
not  a  whit  more  singular  than  that  this  same  animal  of  five 
feet  should  perceive,  and  think,  and  read,  and  write,  and 
speak  ;  attributes  which  no  astronomer  of  my  acquaint- 
ance has  ever  supposed  to  belong  to  the  planets,  notwith- 
standing their  brilliant  appearance  and  stupendous  magni- 
tude." |  The  reply  is  quite  as  good  as  the  argument  is 
entitled  to.§ 

*  Tractat.  Polit.,  Cap.  II.  Sect.  vi. 

t  Le  Philosophe  Ignorant,  XIII.  "  Indeed,  it  would  be  very  singular 
that  all  nature,  all  the  planets,  should  obey  eternal  laws,  and  that  there 
should  be  a  little  animal,  five  feet  high,  who,  in  contempt  of  these  laws, 
could  act  as  he  pleased,  solely  according  to  his  caprice. 

t  Essay  on  Truth,  Part  II.  Chap.  ii.  Sect.  iii. 

§  In  reply  to  the  general  argument  for  necessity  founded  on  the  the- 
ory of  causation,  I  copy  a  few  paragraphs  from  Tappan's  Review  of  Ed- 
wards's  Inquiry  into  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.  —  "  Let  us  look  at  the  con- 
nection of  cause  and  phenomena  a  little  more  particularly.  What  is 


260  FREE    AGENCY. 

III.  Hobbes's  Scheme  of  Necessity.]  According  to 
the  view  of  the  subject  that  has  now  been  taken,  we  are 
led  to  conclude  that  man  possesses  a  power  over  the  de- 
terminations of  his  will  ;  —  and  this  is  precisely  the  scheme 
of  what  is  commonly  called  free-will,  in  opposition  to  that 
of  necessity. 

But  this  power  over  the  determinations  of  the  will  has 
been  represented  by  some  philosophers  as  an  absurdity 
and  impossibility.  Liberty,  we  are  told,  consists  only  in 

cause?  It  is  that  which  is  the  ground  of  the  possible  and  actual  exist- 
ence of  phenomena.  How  is  cause  known?  By  the  phenomena.  Is 
cause  visible?  No;  whatever  is  seen  is  phenomenal.  We  observe 
phenomena,  and  by  the  law  of  our  intelligence  we  assign  them  to  cause. 
But  how  do  we  cvnceite  of  cause  as  producing  phenomena  ?  By  a.  nisus, 
an  effort,  or  energy.  Is  this  nisns  itself  a  phenomenon  ?  It  is  when  it 
is  observed.  Is  it  always  observed  ?  It  is  not.  The  nisus  of  gravita- 
tion we  do  not  observe ;  we  observe  merely  the  facts  of  gravitation. 
The  nisus  of  heat  to  consume  we  do  not  observe  ;  we  observe  merely 
the  facts  of  combustion.  Where,  then,  do  we  observe  this  nisus?  Only 
in  will.  Really,  volition  is  the  nisus  or  effort  of  that  cause  which  we 
call  trill.  When  I  wish  to  do  any  thing,  I  make  an  effort,  a  nisus,  to  do 
it;  I  make  an  effort  to  raise  my  arm,  and  I  raise  it.  This  effort  is  sim- 
ply the  volition.  I  make  an  effort  to  lift  a  weight  with  my  hand  ;  this 
effort  is  simply  the  volition  to  lift  it,  and  immediately  antecedent  to  this 
effort  I  recognize  only  my  will,  or  really  only  myself.  This  effort,  this 
nisus,  this  volition,  —  whatever  we  call  it,  —  is  in  the  will  itself,  and  it 
becomes  a  phenomenon  to  us  because  vse  are  causes  that  know  ourselves. 
Every  nisus,  or  effort,  or  volition,  which  we  may  make,  is  in  our  con- 
sciousness :  causes  which  are  not  self-conscious,  of  course,  do  not  reveal 
thisnims  to  themselves  ;  and  they  cannot  reveal  it  to  us  because  it  is  in 
the  very  bosom  of  the  cause  itself.  What  we  observe  in  relation  to  all 
causes  not  ourselves,  whether  they  be  self-conscious  or  not,  is  not  the 
nisus,  but  the  sequents  of  the  nisus.  Thus  in  men  we  do  not  observe 
the  volition  or  nisus  in  their  wills,  but  the  phenomena  which  form  the 
sequents  of  the  nisus.  And  in  physical  causes,  we  do  not  observe  the 
nisus  of  these  causes,  but  only  the  phenomena  which  form  the  sequents 
of  this  mVi/s.  But  when  each  one  comes  to  himself,  it  is  different.  He 
penetrates  himself, —  knows  himself.  He  is  himself  the  cause;  he  himself 
makes  the  nisus,  and  is  conscious  of  it ;  and  this  nisus  to  him  becomes 
an  effect,  a  phenomenon,  —  the  first  phenomenon  by  which  he  reveals 
himself,  but  a  phenomenon  by  which  he  reveals  himself  only  to  himself. 
It  is  by  the  sequents  of  this  nisus,  the  effects  produced  in  the  external 
visible  world,  that  he  reveals  himself  to  others."  —  pp.  190-192. 

That  our  particular  volitions  are  the  effects  of  the  general  power  of 
willing,  and  not  of  external  motives,  is  plain  enough.  But  the  determi- 
nation of  the  general  power  of  willing  to  put  forth  this  or  that  particular 
volition,  —  is  not  this  the  effect  of  some  cause  ?  and  if  so,  of  what  cause  ? 
Let  us  hear  Mr.  Tappan  again  :  —  "  Does  the  objector  allege,  as  a  pal- 
pable absurdity,  that  there  is,  after  all,  nothing  to  account  for  the  par- 
ticular determination  ?  I  answer,  that  the  particular  determination  is 
accounted  for  in  the  very  quality  or  attribute  of  the  cause.  In  the  case 
of  a  physical  cause,  the  particular  determination  is  accounted  for  in  the 


ARGUMENT  FOR  NECESSITY  261 

a  power  to  act  as  ice  will ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
in  any  being  a  greater  liberty  than  this.  Hence  it  follows, 
that  liberty  does  not  extend  to  the  determinations  of  the 
will,  but  only  to  the  actions  consequent  upon  its  determina- 
tions. To  say  that  we  have  power  to  will  such  an  action, 
is  to  say  that  we  may  will  it  if  we  will.  This  supposes 
the  will  to  be  determined  by  a  prior  will  ;  and  for  the 
same  reason,  that  will  must  be  determined  by  a  will  prior 
to  it,  and  so  on  in  an  infinite  series  of  wills,  which  is  ab- 

quality  of  the  cause,  which  quality  is  to  be  necessarily  correlated  to  the 
object.  la  the  case  of  will,  the  particular  determination  is  accounted 
for  in  the  quality  of  the  cause,  which  quality  is  to  have  the  power  to 
make  the  particular  determination  without  being  necessarily  correlated 
to  the  object.  A  physical  cause  is  a  cause  fixed,  determined,  and 
necessitated.  The  will  is  a  cause  contingent  and  free.  A  physical 
cause  is  a  cause  instrumental  of  a  first  cause;  —  the  will  is  first  cause 
itself.  The  infinite  will  is  the  first  cause  inhabiting  eternity,  filling 
immensity,  and  unlimited  in  its  energy.  The  human  will  is  first  cause 
appearing  in  time,  confined  to  place,  and  finite  in  its  energy ;  but  it  is 
the  same  in  kind,  because  made  in  the  likeness  of  the  infinite  will.  As 
first  cause  it  is  self-moved  ;  it  makes  its  nisus  of  itself,  and  of  itself  it 
forbears  to  make  it;  and  within  the  sphere  of  its  activity,  and  in  rela- 
tion to  its  objects,  it  has  the  power  of  selecting,  by  a  mere  arbitrary  act, 
any  particular  object.  It  is  a  cause  all  whose  acts,  as  well  as  any  par- 
ticular act,  considered  as  phenomenon  demanding  a  cause,  are  account- 
ed for  in  itself  alone." — pp.  222,  223. 

"  Acts  of  the  will  may  be  conceived  of  as  analogous  to  intuitive  or 
first  truths.  First  truths  require  no  demonstration  ;  they  admit  of  none ; 
they  form  the  basis  of  all  demonstration.  Acts  of  the  will  are  first 
movements  of  primary  causes,  and  as  such  neither  require  nor  admit  of 
antecedent  causes,  to  explain  their  action.  Will  is  the  source  and  basis 
of  all  other  cause.  It  explains  all  other  cause,  but  in  itself  admits  of  no 
explanation.  It  presents  the  primary  and  all-comprehending  fact  of 
power.  In  God,  will  is  infinite,  primary  cause,  and  uncreated  :  in  man 
it  is  finite,  primary  cause,  constituted  by  God's  creative  act,  but  not 
necessitated;  for  if  necessitated  it  would  not  be  will,  —  it  would  not 
be  power  after  the  likeness  of  the  Divine  po%ver  ;  it  would  be  mere 
physical  or  secondary  cause,  and  comprehended  in  the  chain  of  natural 
antecedents  and  sequents."  — p.  228. 

Jouffroy  says  in  reference  to  this  point:  — "  The  law,  that  every  mo- 
tive in  material  bodies  is  proportioned  to  the  moving  force  which  pro- 
duced it,  supposes  a  fact ;  namely,  the  inertia  of  matter.  To  apply 
this  law  to  the  relation  which  subsists  between  the  resolutions  of  my 
will,  and  the  motives  which  act  upon  it,  is  to  suppose  that  my  being, — 
that  I,  myself,  —  am  not  a  cause  ;  for  a  cause  is  something  which  pro- 
duces an  act  by  its  own  proper  power.  That  which  is  inert  is  not  a 
cause  ;  it  may  receive  and  transmit  an  impulse,  but  it  cannot  originate 
it.  Are  we,  or  are  we  not,  a  cause?  Have  we,  or  have  we  not,  a 
power  in  ourselres  of  producing  certain  acts  ?  It  would  seem  necessary 
for  us  to  decide  this  question,  before  we  can  rightly  apply  the  law  of 
external  phenomena  to  internal  operations."  —  Introduction  to  Ethics, 
Lecture  IV.— ED. 


262  FREE    AGENCY. 

surd.  To  act  freely,  therefore,  can  mean  nothing  more 
than  to  act  voluntarily  ;  and  this  is  all  the  liberty  that  can 
be  conceived  in  man  or  in  any  other  being. 

Agreeably  to  this  reasoning,  Hobbes  defines  a  free  agent 
to  be  "he  that  can  do  if  he  will  and  forbear  if  he  will." 
The  same  definition  has  been  adopted  by  Leibnitz,  by 
Collins,  by  Gravesande,  by  Edwards,  by  Bonnet,  and  by 
all  later  necessitarians. 

Dr.  Priestley- ascribes  this  peculiar  notion  of  free-will 
to  Hobbes  as  its  author  ;  *  but  it  is  in  fact  of  much  older 
date,  even  among  modern  metaphysicians,  coinciding  ex- 
actly with  the  doctrine  of  those  scholastic  divines  who 
contended  for  the  liberty  of  spontaneity,  in  opposition  to 
the  liberty  of  indifference.  It  is,  however,  to  Hobbes 
that  the  partisans  of  this  opinion  are  indebted  for  the 
happiest  and  most  popular  illustration  of  it  that  has  yet 
been  given.  "I  conceive,"  says  he,  "liberty  to  be 
rightly  defined,  the  absence  of  all  the  impediments  to  action 
that  are  not  contained  in  the  nature  and  intrinsical  quality 
of  the  agent.  As,  for  example,  the  water  is  said  to  de- 
scend freely,  or  to  have  liberty  to  descend  by  the  channel 
of  the  river,  because  there  is  no  impediment  that  way  ; 
but  not  across,  because  the  banks  are  impediments.  And 
though  water  cannot  ascend,  yet  men  never  say  it  wants 
the  liberty  to  ascend,  but  the  faculty  or  power,  because 
the  impediment  is  in  the  nature  of  the  water,  and  intrin- 
sical. So  also  we  say,  he  that  is  tied  wants  the  liberty  to 
go,  because  the  impediment  is  not  in  him,  but  in  his  bands  ; 
whereas  we  say  not  so  of  him  who  is  sick  or  lame,  be- 
cause the  impediment  is  in  himself."! 

V*'The  doctrine  of  philosophical  necessity  is  in  reality  a  modern 
thing ;  not  older,  I  believe,  than  Mr.  Hobbes.  Of  the  Calvinists,  I  be- 
lieve Mr.  Jonathan  Edwards  to  be  the  first.  Others  have  followed  hia 
steps,  especially  Mr.  Toplady.  But  the  inconsistency  of  his  scheme 
with  what  is  properly  Calvinism  appears  by  his  dropping  several  of  the 
essential  parts  of  that  system,  and  his  silence  with  respect  to  others. 
And  when  the  doctrine  of  necessity  shall  be  thoroughly  understood  and 
well  considered  by  Calvinists,  it  will  be  found  to  militate  against  almost 
all  their  peculiar  tenets."  —  Philosophical  .Vccessity  Illustrated,  Sect. 
XIII. 

t  See  his  treatise  Of  Liberty  and  Necessity,  under  this  head,  My 
Opinion  about  Liberty  and  Necessity.  Also,  Questions  concerning  Lib- 
erty, Necessity,  and  Chance  clearly  stated  and  debated  between  Dr.  Bram- 
kall  and  Thomas  Hobba. 


ARGUMENT    FOR   NECESSITY.  263 

In  order  to  judge  how  far  the  reasoning  of  Hobbes  is 
in  this  instance  satisfactory,  it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  the 
various  significations  of  the  word  liberty  ;  for  the  sense  in 
which  Hobbes  has  defined  it  is  only  one  of  its  accepta- 
tions, and  by  no  means  the  sense  in  which  it  ought  to  be 
employed  in  this  controversy. 

1.  Liberty  is  opposed  to  confinement  of  the  body  by 
superior  force,  as  when  a  person  is  shut  up  in  a  prison. 
It  is  in  this  sense  that  Hobbes  uses  the  word  ;  for  he  tells 
us  that  liberty  consists  only  in  a  power  to  act  as  we  will. 
And  if  the  word  had  no  other  acceptation,  the  objection 
now  stated  would  be  a  valid  one  ;  for  as  the  will  cannot  be 
confined  by  any  external  force,  neither  can  we  with  pro- 
priety ascribe  to  the  will  that  species  of  liberty  which  is 
opposed  to  such  confinement.* 

*  "This  is  called  the  liberty  from  co-action  or  violence,  the  liberty  of 
spontaneity,  —  spontaneity,  TO  eKovainv.  In  the  present  question,»this 
species  of  liberty  ought  to  be  thrown  altogether  out  of  account :  it  is 
admitted  by  all  parties  ;  is  common  equally  to  brutes  and  men;  is  not  a 
peculiar  quality  of  the  will ;  and  is,  in  fact,  essential  to  it,  for  the  will 
cannot  possibly  be  forced.  The  greatest  spontaneity  is,  in  fact,  the 
greatest  necessity.  Thus,  a  hungry  horse,  who  turns  of  necessity  to 
Food,  is  said,  on  this  definition  of  liberty,  to  do  so  with  freedom,  because 
he  does  so  spontaneously;  and,  in  general,  the  desire  of  happiness, 
which  is  the  most  necessary  tendency,  will,  on  this  application  of  the 
term,  be  the  most  free. 

"  I  may  observe,  that,  among  others,  the  definition  of  liberty,  given 
by  the  celebrated  advocate  of  moral  freedom,  Dr.  Samuel  Clarke,  is  in 
reality  only  that  of  the  liberty  of  spontaneity,  viz.:  —  'The  power  of 
self-motion  or  action,  which,  in  all  animate  agents,  is  spontaneity,  is,  in 
moral  or  rational  agents,  what  we  properly  call  liberty.'  Fifth  Reply  to 
Leibnitz,  §§  1-20,  and  First  Answer  to  the  Gentleman  of  Cambridge. 

This  self-motion,  absolutely  considered,  is  itself  necessary To 

live  is  to  act,  and  as  man  is  not  free  to  live  or  not  to  live,  so  neither, 
absolutely  speaking,  is  he  free  to  act  or  not  to  act.  As  he  lives,  he  is 
necessarily  determined  to  act  or  energize,  —  to  think  and  will ;  and  all 
the  liberty  to  which  he  can  pretend  is  to  choose  between  this  mode  of 
action  and  that.  In  scholastic  language,  man  cannot  have  the  liberty  of 
exercise,  though  he  may  have  the  liberty  of  specification.  The  root  of  his 
freedom  is  thus  necessity.  Nay,  we  cannot  conceive  otherwise  even 
of  the  Deity.  As  we  must  think  him  as  necessarily  existent,  and  ne- 
cessarily living,  so  we  must  think  him  as  necessarily  active.  Such  are 
the  conditions  of  human  thought.  It  is  thus  sufficiently  manifest  that 
Dr.  Clarke's  inference  of  the  fact  of  moral  liberty,  from  the  conditions 
of  self-activity,  is  incompetent.  And  when  he  says, '  The  true  definition 
of  liberty  is  the  power  to  act,'  he  should  have  recollected  that  this  power 
is,  on  his  own  hypothesis,  absolutely  fatal,  if  it  cannot  but  act.  See  his 
Remarks  on  Collins,  pp.  15,  20,  27." 

I  copy  the  above  from  two  notes  of  Sir  W.  Hamilton,  in  his  edition  of 
Reid's  Works.  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  IV.  Chap.  i.  and  ii.  —  ED. 


264  FREE    AGENCY. 

2.  Liberty  is  opposed  to  the  restraints  on  human  con- 
duct arising  from  law  and  government ;  as  when  we  say, 
that,  by  entering  into  a  political  society,  a  man  gives  up 
part  of  his  natural  liberty.     In  this  sense  liberty  undoubt- 
edly extends  to  the  determinations  of  the  will ;  and  the 
very  obligations  which  are  opposed  to  it  proceed  on  the 
supposition  that  the   will  is  iree.      The  establishment  of 
law  does  not  abridge  this  freedom,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
it  takes  for  granted  that  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  obey 
or  to  transgress  ;  proposing  to  us,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
motives  of  duty  and  of  interest,  and  setting  before  us,  on 
the  other,  the  consequences  of  wilful  transgression. 

3.  Liberty  is  opposed  to  necessity  ;  and  it  is  in  this 
sense  the  word  is  employed,  when  we  say  that  man  is  a 
free  and  accountable  being,  and  that  the  connection  be- 
tween motives  and  actions  is  not  a  necessary  connection, 
like  that  between  cause  and  effect.     This  species  of  lib- 
erty has  been  called  by  some  moral  liberty. 

That  there  is  nothing  inconceivable  in  this  idea  ap- 
pears, I  hope,  sufficiently  from  what  has  been  already  said. 
And  indeed  it  is  so  far  from  being  a  metaphysical  refine- 
ment or  subtilty,  that  the  common-sense  of  mankind  pro- 
nounces men  to  be  accountable  for  their  conduct  only  in 
so  far  as  they  are  understood  to  be  morally  free.  Whence 
is  it  that  we  consider  the  pain  of  the  rack  as  an  alleviation 
of  the  falsehoods  extorted  from  the  criminal  ?  Plainly 
because  the  motives  presented  to  him  are  supposed  to  be 
such  as  no  ordinary  degree  of  self-command  is  able  to 
resist.  And  if  we  were  only  satisfied  that  these  motives 
were  perfectly  irresistible,  we  would  not  ascribe  to  him 
any  guilt  at  all. 

As  an  additional  confirmation  of  Hobbes's  doctrine,  it- 
has  been  urged  that  human  laws  require  no  more  to  con- 
stitute a  crime  but  that  it  be  voluntary  ;  and  hence  it  has 
been  inferred,  that  the  criminality  consists  in  the  determi- 
nation of  the  will,  whether  that  determination  be  free  or 
necessary.  •  • 

The  case  just  referred  to  affords  a  sufficient  refutation 
of  this  argument.  The  confession  of  the  criminal  is  surely 
voluntary,  in  the  strict  acceptation  of  that  term  ;  and  yet 
we  consider  his  guilt  as  alleviated  in  the  same  proportion 
in  which  we  suppose  his  moral  liberty  to  be  abridged. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  265 

It  is  true  that  in  most  cases  human  laws  require  no  more 
to  constitute  a  crime  than  that  it  be  voluntary  ;  because, 
in  general,  motives  are  placed  beyond  the  cognizance  of 
earthly  tribunals.  But,  in  a  moral  view,  merit  and  de- 
merit suppose  not  only  actions  to  be  voluntary,  but  the 
agent  to  be  possessed  of  moral  liberty.  And  even  earthly 
tribunals  judge  on  the  same  principle,  wherever  it  can  be 
made  to  appear  that  the  person  accused  was  deprived  of 
the  power  of  self-government  by  insanity,  or  by  some  ac- 
cidental paroxysm  of  passion. 

1  shall  mention,  in  this  connection,  only  one  other  argu- 
ment in  favor  of  the  scheme  of  necessity  ;  and  I  have  re- 
served for  it  the  last  place,  as  it  has  been  proposed  with 
all  the  confidence  of  mathematical  demonstration  by  a 
writer  of  no  less  note  than  Mr.  Belsham.  It  is  in  the 
form  of  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  ;  and  its  more  immediate 
object  is  to  expose  to  ridicule  the  consequences  which 
necessarily  flow  from  the  doctrine  of  free-will. 

The  argument  is  this  : — "  According  to  the  hypothesis 
of  free-will,  the  essence  of  virtue  and  vice  consists  in 
liberty  ;  for  example,  benevolence  without  liberty  is  no 
virtue  :  malignity  without  liberty  is  no  vice.  Both  are 
equally  in  a  neutral  state.  Add  a  portion  of  liberty  to 
both,  benevolence  instantly  becomes  an  eminent  virtue, 
and  malignity  an  odious  vice.  That  is,  IF  TO  EQUALS 

YOU    ADD    EQUALS,    THE    WHOLES    WILL    BE    UNEQUAL  J 

than  which  nothing  can  be  more  absurd."  * 

On  this  reasoning,  to  which  it  would  be  unjust  to  deny 
the  merit  of  complete  originality,  I  have  no  comment  to 
offer.  I  have  quoted  it  chiefly  as  a  specimen  of  the  logi- 
cal and  mathematical  skill  of  the  present  advocates  for  the 
doctrine  of  philosophical  necessity.  In  this  point  of  view, 
it  forms  an  amusing  contrast  to  the  lofty  pretensions  of  a 
sect  which  prides  itself,  not  only  on  its  superiority  to 
vulgar  prejudices,  but  on  its  sagacity  in  detecting  a  fraud 
so  successfully  practised  on  the  rest  of  mankind  by  the 
Author  of  their  moral  constitution. 


IV.  Argument  of  Leibnitz  for  Necessity.]     It  is  well 

*  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Chap.  IX.  Sect.  V. 

23 


266  FREE    AGENCY. 

known  to  all  who  have  any  acquaintance  with  the  history 
of  modern  philosophy,  that  one  of  the  fundamental  princi- 
ples of  the  Leibnitzian  system  is,  that  "  nothing  exists 
without  a  sufficient  reason  why  it  should  be  so,  and  not 
otherwise."  Of  this  principle  the  following  succinct  ac- 
count is  given  by  Leibniiz  himself,  in  his  controversial 
correspondence  with  Dr.  Clarke  : — u  The  great  founda- 
tion of  mathematics  is  the  principle  of  contradiction  or 
identity  ;  that  is,  that  a  proposition  cannot  be  true  and 
false  at  the  same  time.  But  in  order  to  proceed  from 
mathematics  to  natural  philosophy,  another  principle  is 
requisite,  (as  I  have  observed  in  my  Theodicy,)  I  mean 
the  principle  of  the  sufficient  reason ;  or,  in  other  words, 
that  nothing  happens  without  a  reason  why  it  should  be  so 
rather  than  otherwise.  And  accordingly,  Archimedes 
was  obliged,  in  his  book  De  JEquilibrio,  to  take  for  grant- 
ed, that,  if  there  be  a  balance  in  which  every  thing  is  alike 
on  both  sides,  and  if  equal  weights  are  hung  on  the  two 
ends  of  that  balance,  the  whole  will  be  at  rest.  It  is  be- 
cause no  reason  can  be  given  why  one  side  should  weigh 
down  rather  than  the  other.  Now  by  this  single  principle 
of  the  sufficient  reason  may  be  demonstrated  the  being  of 
a  God,  and  all  the  other  parts  of  metaphysics  or  natural 
theology  ;  and  even  in  some  measure  those  physical  truths 
that  are  independent  upon  mathematics,  such  as  the  dy- 
namical principles,  or  the  principles  offeree."  * 

Some  of  the  inferences  deduced  by  Leibnitz  from  this 
almost  gratuitous  assumption  are  so  paradoxical,  that  one 
cannot  help  wondering  he  was  not  staggered  about  its  cer- 
tainty. Not  only  was  he  led  to  conclude  that  the  mind  is 
necessarily  determined  in  all  its  elections  by  the  greatest 
apparent  good,  insomuch  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
it  to  make  a  choice  between  two  things  perfectly  alike  ; 
but  he  had  the  boldness  to  extend  this  conclusion  to  the 
Deity,  and  to  assert,  that  two  things  perfectly  alike  could 
not  have  been  produced  even  by  Divine  power.  It  was 
upon  this  ground  that  he  rejected  a  vacuum,  because  all 
the  parts  of  it  would  be  perfectly  like  to  each  other  ;  and 

*  Collection  of  Papers  which  passed  between  Mr.  Leibnitz  and  Dr. 
Clarke,  Leibnitz's  Second  Paper.  For  a  full  statement  of  Leibnitz's 
views  on  this  and  kindred  questions,  see  his  Etsais  at  Thdodicee. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  267 

that  he  also  rejected  the  supposition  of  atoms,  or  similar 
particles  of  matter,  and  ascribed  to  each  particle  a  monad, 
or  active  principle,  by  which  it  is  discriminated  from 
every  other  particle.  The  application  of  his  principle, 
however,  on  which  he  evidently  valued  himself  the  most, 
was  that  to  which  I  have  already  alluded,  —  the  demon- 
strative evidence  with  which  he  conceived  it  to  establish 
the  impossibility  of  free  agency,  not  only  in  man,  but  in 
any  other  intelligent  being. 

Let  us  examine,  therefore,  Leibnitz's  principle  as  ap- 
plicable to  the  determinations  of  the  will,  and  consider 
what  it  implies,  and  how  far  it  is  agreeable  to  fact.  And 
for  this  purpose  it  is  necessary  to  attend  to  the  various 
senses  in  which  it  maybe  understood. 

1.  When  it  is  said,  that  for  every  voluntary  action  there 
must  have  been  a  sufficient  reason,  the  proposition  may 
be  understood   merely   to  imply   that  every  such  action 
must  have    had  a  cause.     And  we  may  remark    by  the 
way,  that  this  is  the  only  interpretation  of  which  the  prop- 
osition admits,  if  the  word  reason  be  used  in  the  same 
sense  in  which  alone  Leibnitz's   maxim   is  applicable  to 
inanimate  matter.     But  in  this  sense  of  the  proposition  it 
does  not  at  all  affect  the  question  about  liberty  and  neces- 
sity ;  for  it  only  implies  that  the  action  is  an  effect,  which 
either  proceeded  from  the  free-will  of  the  agent  (in  which 
case  he  may  justly  be  said  to  be  the  cause  of  the  effect), 
or  which  did  not  proceed  from  his  free-will  (in  which  case 
it  must  ultimately  be  referred  to  some  other  cause). 

2.  The  principle  of  the  sufficient  reason,  when  applied 
to  our  voluntary  actions,  may  be  understood  to  imply,  that 
the  will  is  necessarily  determined  by  the  greatest  apparent 
good.      As  this  proposition  is  not  peculiar  to  the  system 
of  Leibnitz,  it  may  be  proper  to  state  it  more  fully. 

The  circumstances  of  our  external  situation,  it  has  been 
said,  and  the  state  of  our  appetites,  desires,  &c.,  at  any 
particular  time,  evidently  do  not  depend  on  us.  Suppose, 
then,  that  I  am  under  the  influence  of  any  two  active 
principles  which  urge  me  in  different  directions,  and  that  I 
deliberate  which  of  them  I  am  to  obey.  The  conclusion 
my  understanding  forms  on  this  subject  does  not  depend 
on  me,  and  this  conclusion  necessarily  determines  my  will ; 


268  FREE    AGENCY. 

for  it  is  impossible  for  a  man  not  to  do  what  appears  to 
him  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  best  and  most  eligible  thing 
at  the  moment.  My  will,  therefore,  in  every  case,  de- 
pends as  little  on  myself  as  the  conclusion  of  my  under- 
standing when  I  give  my  assent  to  a  mathematical  demon- 
stration. 

The  flaw  of  this  reasoning,  I  apprehend,  lies  in  that 
step  in  which  it  is  affirmed  that  the  will  is  necessarily 
determined  by  what  appears  to  us  to  be  best  and  most 
eligible  at  the  moment  ;  —  and  the  only  circumstance 
which  gives  the  proposition  the  smallest  degree  of  plausi- 
bility is  the  ambiguity  of  the  language  in  which  it  is  stated. 
For  it  may  either  imply  that  our  volitions  are  necessarily 
agreeable  to  what  we  will  at  the  time  ;  in  which  case  we 
only  assert  an  identical  proposition  :  or  that  the  will  is 
necessarily  determined  by  what  appears  to  us  to  be  morally 
best  and  really  most  eligible  at  the  time  ;  in  which  case 
we  assert  what  is  contrary  to  fact. 

3.  The  meaning  of  the  proposition  now  under  consid- 
eration may  be  understood  to  be  this,  —  that  for  every  ac- 
tion there  must  be  a  motive. 

I  have  already  said  that  in  this  sense  I  am  disposed  to 
admit  the  maxim.  Dr.  Reid,  indeed,  has  very  confidently 
maintained  the  negative  ;  but  I  do  not  think,  (as  I  formerly 
observed,)  that  by  doing  so  he  has  strengthened  his  cause  ; 
for  he  confesses  that  the  actions  which  are  performed  with- 
out motives  are  perfectly  trifling  and  insignificant :  nay, 
he  acknowledges  that  the  merit  of  an  action  depends  en- 
tirely on  the  motive  from  which  it  is  performed. 

But  although  we  grant  this  general  proposition,  it  cer- 
tainly does  not  follow  from  it  that  man  is  a  necessary 
agent.  The  question  is  not  concerning  the  influence  of 
motives,  but  concerning  the  nature  of  that  influence.  The 
advocates  for  necessity  represent  it  as  the  influence  of  a 
cause  in  producing  its  effect.  The  advocates  for  liberty 
acknowledge  that  the  motive  is  the  occasion  of  acting,  or 
the  reason  for  acting  ;  but  contend  that  it  is  so  far  from 
being  the  efficient  cause  of  it  that  it  supposes  the  efficiency 
to  exist  elsewhere,  namely,  in  the  mind  of  the  agent.  Be- 
tween these  two  opinions  there  is  an  essential  distinction. 
The  one  represents  man  merely  as  a  passive  instrument. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  269 

According  to  the  other,  he  is  really  an  agent,  and  the  sole 
author  of  his  own  actions.  He  acts,  indeed,  from  motives, 
but  he  has  the  power  of  choice  among  different  ones. 
When  he  acts  from  a  particular  motive,  it  is  not  because 
this  motive  is  stronger  than  others,  but  because  he  willed 
to  act  in  this  way.  Indeed,  it  may  be  questioned  if  the 
word  strength  conveys  any  idea  when  applied  to  motives. 
It  is  obviously  an  analogical  or  metaphorical  expression, 
borrowed  from  a  class  of  phenomena  essentially  different.* 

*  "  It  is  the  strongest  motive,  say  they,  which  determines  the  will. 
What  is  this  strongest  motive,  I  ask,  and  how  do  you  measure  the  com- 
parative force  of  motives  ?  Is  that  the  strongest  motive,  according  to 
your  idea,  which  determines  the  volition  ?  If  this  is  so,  you  are  argu- 
ing in  a  circle ;  and  instead  of  showing  that  it  is  the  strongest  motive 
which  decides  the  will,  you  are  merely  saying  that,  as  the  determina- 
tion of  the  will  is  in  conformity  with  such  or  such  a  motive,  therefore 
this  motive  is  strongest. 

"But,  if  we  cannot  judge  from  effect,  we  must  find  some  common 
measure  by  which  to  decide.  Let  us  inquire,  then,  what  this  measure 
can  be. 

"Of  two  impulses,  manifestly  unequal,  it  would  be  easy  to  determine 
the  stronger  ;  a  vehement  desire  is  distinguishable  in  our  consciousness 
from  one  not  so.  And  thus,  merely  from  their  vivacity  and  fervor,  we 
mav  often  recognize  the  stronger  from  the  weaker  passion.  There  is, 
then,  if  you  choose  to  say  so,  a  common  measure  between  different  im- 
pulses of  our  sensitive  nature,  which  are  peculiarly  distinguished  as 
emotions.  On  the  other  hand,  of  different  courses  of  conduct  which 
reason  and  self-interest  bring  into  contrast,  I  may  see  that  one  is  much 
more  advantageous  than  another.  There  is,  then,  if  you  please,  a  means 
of  comparing  together  different  suggestions  of  self-interest:  the  sugges- 
tion which  promises  the  most  for  my  interest  should  have  the  most 
power  over  me.  In  the  same  way,  among  different  duties  which  may 
present  themselves  to  my  judgment,  there  may  be  one  which  appears 
more  obligatory  than  another ;  for  there  are  duties  of  different  degrees 
of  importance,  and  in  many  cases  I  must  sacrifice  the  less  to  the  greater. 
I  perceive,  then,  that,  strictly  speaking,  there  is  a  possibility  of  com- 
paring together  the  relative  force  of  different  motives  originating  from 
duty,  and  of  different  motives  suggested  by  self-interest,  or,  finally,  of 
different  desires  striving  within  me  at  a  given  moment.  But  between 
a  desire  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  conception  of  interest  or  of  duty  on  the 
other,  where,  I  ask,  can  you  find  a  standard  of  comparison  ?  If  I  assume 
passion  as  the  measure,  then,  evidently,  passion  will  appear  the  stronger 
motive ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  I  assume  interest  or  duty  as  the  meas- 
ure, then  desire  becomes  nothing,  and  duty  or  interest  all  in  all.  It  de- 
pends, then,  wholly  upon  the  measure  of  comparison  which  I  adopt, 
whether  this  or  the  other  motive  is  strongest ;  which  proves  that  there 
is  no  common  measure  of  comparison  to  be  applied  at  all  times  to  these 
different  kinds  of  motives,  when  we  would  estimate  their  relative  force. 

"  Thus,  in  truth,  in  almost  every  case,  to  say  that  we  yield  to  the 
strongest  motive  is  to  say  what  has  no  meaning;  for  in  most  cases  it  is 
impossible  to  determine  the  strongest  motive.  If  I  will  to  be  prudent,  I 

23* 


270  FREE    AGENCY. 

V.  Scheme  of  Necessity  advocated  by  Collins  and 
Edwards.]  The  ablest  defenders  of  free-will  have  con- 
tended that  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  when  pushed  to  its 
logical  consequences,  must  ultimately  terminate  in  Spino- 
zism.  It  seems  to  have  been  the  great  aim  of  Collins  to 
vindicate  his  favorite  scheme  from  this  reproach,  and  to 
retaliate  upon  the  partisans  of  free-will  the  charges  of 
favoring  atheism  and  immorality.  In  proof  of  this,  1  have 
only  to  quote  the  account  given  by  the  author  himself  of 
the  plan  of  his  work. 

"  Too  much  care  cannot  be  taken  to  prevent  being  mis- 
understood and  prejudged  in  handling  questions  of  such 
nice  speculation  as  those  of  liberty  and  necessity  ;  and 
therefore,  though  I  might  in  justice  expect  to  be  read 
before  any  judgment  be  passed  on  me,  I  think  it  proper 
to  premise  the  following  observations  :  — 

"  First,  though  I  deny  liberty  in  a  certain  meaning  of 
that  word,  yet  I  contend  for  liberty,  as  it  signifies  a  power 
in  man  to  do  as  he  wills  or  pleases. 

"  Secondly,  when  I  affirm  necessity,  I  contend  only  for 
moral  necessity,  meaning  thereby  that  man,  who  is  an  intel- 
ligent and  sensible  being,  is  determined  by  his  reason  and 
his  senses  ;  and  I  deny  man  to  be  subject  to  such  necessi- 
ty as  is  in  clocks,  watches,  and  such  other  beings,  which, 
for  want  of  sensation  and  intelligence,  are  subject  to  an 
absolute,  physical,  or  mechanical  necessity. 

"  Thirdly,  I  have  undertaken  to  show  that  the  notions 
I  advance  are  so  far  from  being  inconsistent  with,  that 

follow  the  motive  of  self-interest;  if  I  will  to  be  virtuous,  I  follow  the 
motive  of  duty  ;  if  I  will  to  be  neither  prudent  nor  virtuous,  I  follow 
passion  ;  and  in  proportion  as  I  yield  to  passion,  to  enlightened  interest, 
or  to  duty,  does  the  merit  of  my  conduct  vary.  And  here  is  a  marvel  for 
the  advocate  of  necessity,  and  something  which,  in  the  sincerity  of  his 
conviction,  he  should  ponder  well.  I,  who  am  not  free,  —  who,  what- 
ever resolution  I  have  taken,  have  yet  been  fatally  determined  to  take 
it  by  the  strongest  motive,  —  I  feel  that  I  am  responsible  for  this  resolu- 
tion ;  and  others,  too,  regard  me  as  responsible;  so  that,  according  as  I 
have  been  impelled  to  tins  or  that  act,  do  I  believe  myself  to  have  merit 
or  demerit,  and  pass  sentence  on  myself  as  reasonable  or  unreasonable, 
prudent  or  foolish  ;  and,  in  a  word,  apply  to  myself,  though  I  have 
yielded  necessarily  to  the  strongest  motive,  certain  expressions  and 
names,  all  implying  most  decisively  and  forcibly  that  I  was  free  to  yield 
or  resist,  to  take  at  my  option  this  or  that  course,  and,  consequently, 
that  this  so-called  strongest  motive  did  not,  after  all,  determine  the 
act."  —  Jouffroy's  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Lect.  IV. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  271 

they  are  the  sole  foundations  of,  morality  and  laws,  and  of 
rewards  and  punishments  in  society  ;  and  that  the  notions 
I  explode  are  subversive  of  them."* 

In  the  prosecution  of  his  argument  on  this  question, 
Collins  endeavours  to  show  that  man  is  a  necessary  agent  : 
—  1 .  From  experience.  By  experience  he  means  our  own 
consciousness  that  we  are  necessary  agents.  2.  From 
the  impossibility  of  liberty.  3.  From  the  consideration 
of  the  Divine  prescience.  4.  From  the  nature  and  use 
of  rewards  and  punishments.  And,  5.  From  the  nature 
of  morality. 

In  this  view  of  the  subject,  and  indeed  in  the  very  selec- 
tion of  his  premises,  it  is  remarkable  how  completely 
Collins  has  anticipated  Dr.  Jonathan  Edwards,  the  most 
celebrated  and  indisputably  the  ablest  champion,  in  later 
times,  of  the  scheme  of  necessity.  The  coincidence  is 
so  perfect,  that  the  outline  given  by  the  former  of  the  plan 
of  his  work  might  have  served  with  equal  propriety  as  a 
preface  to  that  of  the  latter.  From  the  above-mentioned 
summary  of  the  argument,  and  still  more  from  the  whole 
tenor  of  the  Philosophical  Inquiry,  it  is  evident  that  Col- 
lins (one  of  the  most  obnoxious  writers  of  his  day  to  divines 
of  all  denominations)  was  not  less  solicitous  than  his  suc- 
cessor, Edwards,  to  reconcile  his  metaphysical  notions 
with  man's  accountableness  and  moral  agency.  The 
remarks,  accordingly,  of  Clarke  upon  Collins's  work  are 
equally  applicable  to  that  of  Edwards.  It  is  to  be  regret- 
ted that  they  seem  never  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
this  very  acute  and  candid  reasoner.f  As  for  Collins,  it 

*  Philosophical  Inquiry  concerning  Human  Liberty,  Preface. 

t  Remarks  upon  a  Book  entitled  A  Philosophical  Inquiry  concerning 
Human  Liberty.  Voltaire,  who  in  all  probability  never  read  either 
Clarke  or  Collins,  has  said  that  the  former  replied  to  the  latter  only  by 
theological  reasonings  ;  —  "  Clarke  n'a  repondu  a  Collins  qu'en  theolo- 
gien."  (Quest,  stir  I'Encyc.,  Art.  Liberte.)  Nothing  can  be  more  re- 
mote from  the  truth.  The  argument  of  Clarke  is  wholly  metaphysi- 
cal, whereas  his  antagonist  in  various  instances  has  attempted,  though 
an  avowed  deist,  to  wrest  to  his  own  purposes  the  words  of  Scripture. 

[For  a  full  and  elaborate  answer  to  Edwards,  see  Mr.  Tappan  s  Re- 
view, from  which  a  long  quotation  has  already  been  given,  directed 
against  one  of  his  leading  positions.  We  give  another,  on  the  distinc- 
tion, so  much  insisted  on  by  Edwards,  and  essential,  indeed,  to  his 
scheme,  between  moral  and  nntttral  inability. 

"  Man,  they  say,  is  morally  unable  to  do  good,  and  naturally  able  to 


272  FREE    AGENCY. 

is  a  remarkable  circumstance  that  he  attempted  no  reply 
to  this  tract  of  Clarke's,  although  he  lived  twelve  years 
after  its  publication.  The  reasonings  contained  in  it, 
together  with  those  on  the  same  subject  in  his  corre- 
spondence with  Leibnitz,  and  in  his  Demonstration  of  the 
Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  form,  in  my  humble  opin- 
ion, the  most  important,  as  well  as  powerful,  of  all  his 
metaphysical  arguments.  The  adversaries  with  whom  he 
had  to  contend  were  both  of  them  eminently  distinguished 
by  ingenuity  and  subtilty,  and  he  seems  to  have  put  forth 

do  good,  and  therefore  he  can  justly  be  made  the  subject  of  command, 
appeal,  rebuke,  and  exhortation.  Natural  inability,  as  defined  by  this 
system,  lies  in  the  connection  between  the  volition,  considered  as  an 
antecedent,  and  the  effect  required.  Thus  I  am  naturally  unable  to 
walk,  when,  although  I  make  the  volition,  my  limbs,  through  weak- 
ness or  disease,  do  not  obey.  Any  defect  in  the  powers  or  instrumen- 
talities dependent  for  activity  upon  volition,  or  any  impediment  which 
volition  cannot  surmount,  constitutes  natural  inability.  According  to 
this  system,  I  am  not  held  responsible  for  any  thing  which,  through 
natural  inability,  cannot  be  accomplished,  although  the  volition  is  made. 
But  let  us  suppose  that  there  is  no  defect  in  the  powers  or  instrumen- 
talities dependent  for  activity  upon  volition,  and  no  impediment  which 
volition  cannot  surmount,  so  that  there  need  be  only  a  volition  in  order 
to  have  the  effect,  and  then  the  natural  ability  is  complete  :  —  I  will  to 
walk,  and  I  walk.  Now  it  is  affirmed  that  a  man  is  fairly  responsible 
for  the  doing  of  any  thing,  and  can  be  fairly  urged  to  do  it,  when,  as  in 
this  case,  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  doing  of  it  is  a  volition,  although 
there  may  be  a  moral  inability  to  the  volition  itself. 
'  "  Nothing,  it  seems  to  me,  can  be  more  absurd  than  this  distinction. 
If  it  be  granted  to  be  absurd  to  urge  men  to  do  right  when  they  are  con- 
ceived to  be  totally  unable  to  do  right,  it  is  equally  so  when  they  are 
conceived  to  have  only  a  natural  ability  to  do  right ;  because  this  natural 
ability  is  of  no  avail  without  a  corresponding  moral  ability.  If  the  voli- 
tion take  place,  there  is  indeed  nothing  to  prevent  the  action;  nay, 
1  the  very  willing  is  the  doing  of  it' :  but  then  the  volition,  as  an  effect, 
cannot  take  place  without  a  cause  ;  and  to  acknowledge  a  moral  inability 
is  nothing  less  than  to  acknowledge  that  there  is  no  cause  to  produce 
the  required  volition.  The  inability,  under  both  representations,  is 
a  total  inability.  In  the  utter  impossibility  of  a  right  volition  is  the 
utter  impossibility  of  any  good  deed.  When  we  have  denied  liberty 
in  denying  a  self-determining  power,  these  definitions,  in  order  to  make 
out  a  quasi  liberty  and  ability,  are  nothing  but  ingenious  folly  and  plau- 
sible deception. 

"  You  tell  the  man,  indeed,  that  he  can  if  he  will;  and  when  he  replies, 
that  on  your  principles  the  required  volition  is  impossible,  you  refer  him 
to  the  common  notions  of  mankind.  According  to  these,  you  say,  a 
man  is  guilty  when  he  forbears  to  do  right,  since  nothing  is  wanting 
to  right-doing  but  a  volition,  and  guilty  when  he  does  wrong,  because 
he  wills  to  do  wrong.  According  to  these  common  notions,  too,  a  man 
may  fairly  be  persuaded  to  do  right,  when  nothing  is  wanting  but  a  will 
to  do  right.  But  do  we  find  this  distinction  of  natural  and  moral  ability 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  -      273 

to  the  utmost  his  logical  strength,  in  contending  with  such 
antagonists.  "  The  liberty  or  moral  agency  of  man,"  says 
his  friend,  Dr.  Hoadly,  "  was  a  darling  point  to  him.  He 
excelled  always  and  showed  a  superiority  to  all,  whenever 
it  came  into  private  discourse  or  public  debate.  But  he 
never  more  excelled  than  when  he  was  pressed  with  the 
strength  Leibnitz  was  master  of;  which  made  him  exert 
all  his  talents  to  set  it  once  again  in  a  clear  light,  to  guard 
it  against  the  evil  of  metaphysical  obscurities,  and  to  give 
the  finishing  stroke  to  a  subject  which  must  ever  be  the 

in  the  common  notions  of  men  ?  When  nothing  is  required  to  the  per- 
formance of  a  deed  but  a  volition,  do  men  conceive  of  any  inability  what- 
ever? Do  they  not  feel  that  the  volition  has  a  metaphysical  possibility, 
as  well  as  that  the  sequent  of  the  volition  has  a  physical  possibility  ?  " 
—  pp.  161-165. 

We  copy  the  following  passage  from  Blakey's  History  of  the  Phi- 
losophy of  Mind,  Vol.  IV.  p.  515,  as  giving  one  of  the  latest  European 
estimates  of  Dr.  Edwards's  merits  as  a  philosopher:  —  "  Dr.  Edwards 
had  a  peculiarly  constituted  mind;  —  a  mind  capable  of  pursuing,  with 
incomparable  steadiness  and  clearness,  the  longest  and  most  intricate 
chain  of  reasoning  ;  but  a  mind,  withal,  by  no  means  endowed  with  the 
loftiest  powers  of  logical  comprehension.  He  saw  every  link  in  a 
chain  of  reasoning  with  a  microscopic  eye,  which,  when  its  focal  power 
was  changed,  made  every  thing  at  a  distance  appear  hazy,  clouded,  and 
ill-defined.  He  could  do  one  thing  as  no  other  man  has  ever  been  able 
to  do  it ;  he  could  reason  from  given  or  assumed  premises  with  perspi- 
cuity, neatness,  and  power,  and  with  an  almost  superhuman  ease  and 
correctness ;  but  he  could  not  embrace  a  philosophical  system  as  a 
whole,  and  show  its  manifold  bearings  and  relations  to  other  branches 
of  knowledge.  He  was  an  acute,  but  not  a  great,  philosopher.  His 
was  a  vivid  and  piercing  light,  but  its  illuminating  rays,  at  a  certain  dis- 
tance, became  limited  and  scattered,  and  gave  to  all  surrounding  objects 
a  disturbed  and  confused  appearance.  His  ratiocination  is  so  perfect  of 
its  kind,  that  it  assumes  the  appearance  of  mechanism;  and  we  feel  a 
sort  of  secret  dislike  to  have  all  the  pegs  and  wires  of  an  argument 
so  minutely  and  obtrusively  placed  before  us.  Edwards  has,  in  fact, 
been  denominated  a  'reasoning  machine';  and  the  epithet  is  by  no 
means  misapplied  or  extravagant.  But  as  a  machine  can  only  do  its 
work  one  way,  and  we  cannot  humor  it,  or  make  its  power  more 
pliable,  so  in  like  manner  do  we  find  the  intellectual  mechanism  of 
Edwards  unyielding  and  unmanageable,  except  in  its  own  peculiar 
fashion." 

With  an  inconsistency  by  no  means  uncommon,  Blakey,  in  his  notice 
of  Collins,  quotes  with  approbation  what  Stewart  says  above  of  Collins 
as  anticipating  Edwards  in  every  thing,  and  afterwards,  in  his  notice  of 
Edwards,  says  of  the  latter,  that  "  he  has  stated  and  illustrated  the  prin- 
ciple of  necessary  connection  in  a  manner  altogether  different  from  the 
way  in  which  Collins.  Priestley,  Hume,  and  others  have  argued  it." 

See,  also,  an  Essay  on  the  Genius  and  Writings  of  Edwards,  prefixed 
to  the  London  edition  of  his  works,  1834,  by  H.  Rogers ;  and  I.  Taylor's 
Introduction  to  his  edition  of  Edwards  On.  the  Will.] 


274  FREE    AGENCY. 

foundation  of  morality  in  man,  and  is  the  ground  of  the  ac- 
countableness  of  intelligent  creatures  for  all  their  actions." 

To  the  arguments  of  Collins  against  man's  free  agency 
some  of  his  followers  have  added  the  inconsistency  of  this 
doctrine  with  the  known  effects  of  education  (under  which 
phrase  they  comprehend  also  the  moral  effects  of  all  the 
external  circumstances  in  which  men  are  involuntarily 
placed)  in  forming  the  characters  of  individuals. 

The  plausibility  of  this  argument,  (on  which  so  much 
stress  has  been  laid  by  Priestley  and  others)  arises  en- 
tirely from  the  mixture  of  truth  which  it  involves  ;  or,  to 
express  myself  more  correctly,  from  the  evidence  and  im- 
portance of  the  fact  on  which  it  proceeds,  when  that  fact 
is  stated  with  due  limitations. 

That  the  influence  of  education,  in  this  comprehensive 
sense  of  the  word,  was  greatly  underrated  by  our  ancestors 
is  now  universally  acknowledged,  and  it  is  to  Locke's  writ- 
ings, more  than  to  any  other  single  cause,  that  the  change 
in  public  opinion  on  this  head  is  to  be  ascribed.  On 
various  occasions  he  has  expressed  himself  very  strongly 
with  respect  to  the  extent  of  this  influence,  and  has  more 
than  once  intimated  his  belief,  that  the  great  majority  of 
men  continue  through  life  what  early  education  has  made 
them.  In  making  use,  however,  of  this  strong  language, 
his  object  (as  is  evident  from  the  opinions  which  he  has 
avowed  in  other  parts  of  his  works)  was  only  to  arrest 
the  attention  of  his  readers  to  the  practical  lessons  he  was 
anxious  to  inculcate  ;  and  not  to  state  a  metaphysical  fact 
which  was  to  be  literally  and  rigorously  interpreted  in  the 
controversy  about  liberty  and  necessity.  The  only  sound 
and  useful  moral  to  be  drawn  from  the  spirit  of  his  ob- 
servation is  the  duty  of  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  all  the 
blessings,  in  respect  of  education  and  of  external  situation, 
which  have  fallen  to  our  own  lot  ;  the  impossibility  of 
ascertaining  the  involuntary  misfortunes  by  which  the 
seeming  demerits  of  others  may  have  been  in  part  occa- 
sioned, and  in  the  same  proportion  diminished  ;  and  the 
consequent  obligation  upon  ourselves  to  think  as  charitably 
as  possible  of  their  conduct  under  the  most  unfavorable 
appearances.  The  truth  of  all  this  I  conceive  to  be  im- 
plied in  these  words  of  Scripture,  —  "To  whom  much 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  275 

is  given,  of  them  much  will  be  required  ";  and,  if  possible, 
still  more  explicitly  and  impressively  in  the  Parable  of  the 
Talents. 

Is  not  the  use  which  has  been  made  by  necessitarians 
of  Locke's  Treatise  on  Education,  and  other  books  of  a 
similar  tendency,  only  one  instance  more  of  that  disposi- 
tion, so  common  among  metaphysical  sciolists,  to  con- 
ceal from  the  world  their  incapacity  to  add  to  the  stock  of 
useful  knowledge,  by  appropriating  to  themselves  the  con- 
clusions of  their  wiser  and  more  sober  predecessors,  under 
the  startling  and  imposing  disguise  of  universal  maxims, 
admitting  neither  of  exception  nor  restriction  ?  It  is  thus 
that  Locke's  judicious  and  refined  remarks  on  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  have  been  exaggerated  to  such  an  extreme 
by  Hartley  and  Priestley,  as  to  bring  among  cautious 
inquirers  some  degree  of  discredit  on  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant doctrines  of  modern  philosophy.  Or,  to  take 
another  case  still  more  in  point,  it  is  thus  that  Locke's 
reflections  on  the  effects  of  education  in  modifying  the 
intellectual  faculties,  and  (where  skilfully  conducted)  in 
supplying  their  original  defects,  have  been  distorted  into 
the  puerile  paradox  of  Helvetius,  that  the  mental  capacities 
of  the  whole  human  race  are  the  same  at  the  moment  of 
birth.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  here  to  throw  out  these  hints, 
which  will  be  found  to  apply  equally  to  a  large  proportion 
of  other  theories  started  by  modern  metaphysicians. 

VI.  Ground  taken  by  later  Advocates  of  Necessity.] 
It  is  needless  to  say,  that  neither  Leibnitz  nor  Collins 
admitted  the  fairness  of  the  inferences  which  Clarke  con- 
ceived to  follow  from  the  scheme  of  necessity.  But 
almost  every  page  in  the  subsequent  history  of  this  con- 
troversy may  be  regarded  as  an  additional  illustration  of 
the  soundness  of  Clarke's  reasonings,  and  of  the  sagacity 
with  which  he  anticipated  the  fatal  errors  likely  to  ensue 
from  the  system  which  he  opposed. 

A  very  learned  and  pious  disciple  of  Leibnitz,  who 
made  his  first  appearance  as  an  author  about  thirty  years 
after  the  death  of  his  master,  exclaims,  —  "Thus  the 
same  chain  embraces  the  physical  and  moral  worlds,  binds 
the  past  to  the  present,  the  present  to  the  future,  the  future 
to  eternity. 


276  FREE    AGENCY. 

"  That  wisdom  which  has  ordained  the  existence  of 
this  chain  has  doubtless  willed  that  of  every  link  of  which 
it  is  composed.  A  CALIGULA  is  one  of  those  links,  and 
this  link  is  of  iron.  A  MARCUS  AURELIUS  is  another 
link,  and  this  link  is  of  gold.  Both  are  necessary  parts  of 
one  whole,  which  could  not  but  exist.  Shall  God,  then, 
be  angry  at  the  sight  of  the  iron  link  ?  What  absurdity  ! 
God  esteems  this  link  at  its  proper  value  :  he  sees  it  in 
its  cause,  and  he  approves  this  cause,  for  it  is  good.  God 
beholds  moral  monsters  as  he  beholds  physical  monsters. 
Happy  is  the  link  of  gold  !  Still  more  happy  if  he  know 
that  he  is  only  fortunate.  [Heureux  le  chainon  d'or  ! 
plus  heureux  encore,  s'il  sait  qu'il  n'est  qu'^eureux.]  He 
has  attained  the  highest  degree  of  moral  perfection,  and  is 
nevertheless  without  pride,  knowing  that  what  he  is  is  the 
necessary  result  of  the  place  which  he  must  occupy  in  the 
chain. 

"  The  Gospel  is  the  allegorical  exposition  of  this  sys- 
tem ;  the  simile  of  the  potter  is  its  summary."  * 

In  what  essential  respect  does  this  system  differ  from 
that  of  Spinoza  ?  Is  it  not  even  more  dangerous  in  its 
practical  tendency,  in  consequence  of  the  high  strain  of 
mystical  devotion  by  which  it  is  exalted  ? 

This  objection,  however,  does  not  apply  to  the  quota- 
tions which  follow.  They  exhibit,  without  any  coloring 
of  imagination  or  of  enthusiasm,  the  scheme  of  necessity 
pushed  to  the  remotest  and  most  alarming  conclusions 
which  it  appeared  to  Clarke  to  involve  ;  and,  as  they  ex- 
press the  serious  and  avowed  creed  of  two  of  our  contem- 
poraries, (both  of  them  men  of  distinguished  talents,)  may 
be  regarded  as  a  proof  that  the  zeal  displayed  by  Clarke 
against  the  metaphysical  principles  which  led  ultimately  to 
such  results  was  not  so  unfounded  as  some  worthy  and 
able  inquirers  have  supposed. 

"  All  that  is  must  be,"  says  the  Baron  de  Grimm,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Gotha,  —  "  all  that 
is  must  be,  even  because  it  is  ;  this  is  the  only  sound  phi- 
losophy ;  as  long  as  we  do  not  know  this  universe  a  priori, 
(as  they  say  in  the  schools,)  ALL  is  NECESSITY.  Liberty 

*  Bonnet,  Principu  Philosophises,  Part  VIII.  Chap.  vii. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  277 

is  a  word  without  meaning,  as  you  will  see  in  the  letter  of 
M.  Diderot." 

The  following  passage  is  extracted  from  Diderot's  let- 
ter here  referred  to. 

"  I  am  now,  my  dear  friend,  going  to  quit  the  tone  of 
a  preacher,  to  take,  if  I  can,  that  of  a  philosopher.  Ex- 
amine it  narrowly,  and  you  will  see  that  the  word  liberty 
is  a  word  devoid  of  meaning  ;  that  there  are  not,  and  that 
there  cannot  be,  free  beings  ;  that  we  are  only  what  ac- 
cords with  the  general  order,  with  our  organization,  our 
education,  and  the  chain  of  events.  These  dispose  of  us 
invincibly.  We  can  no  more  conceive  of  a  being  acting 
without  a  motive  than  we  can  of  one  of  the  arms  of  a  balance 
acting  without  a  weight.  The  motive  is  always  exterior 
and  foreign,  fastened  upon  us  by  some  cause  distinct  from 
ourselves.  What  deceives  us  is  the  prodigious  variety  of 
our  actions,  joined  to  the  habit,  which  we  catch  at  our 
birth,  of  confounding  the  voluntary  and  the  free.  We 
have  been  so  often  praised  and  blamed,  and  have  so 
often  praised  and  blamed  others,  that  we  contract  an 
inveterate  prejudice  of  believing  that  we  and  they  will 
and  act  freely.  But  if  there  is  no  liberty,  there  is  no 
action  that  merits  either  praise  or  blame  ;  neither  vice  nor 
virtue  ;  nothing  that  ought  either  to  be  rewarded  or  pun- 
ished. What,  then,  is  the  distinction  among  men  ?  The 
doing  of  good  and  the  doing  of  ill  !  The  doer  of  ill  is 
one  who  must  be  destroyed  or  punished.  The  doer  of 
good  is  lucky,  not  virtuous.  But  though  neither  the  doer 
of  good  nor  of  ill  be  free,  man  is  nevertheless  a  being  to 
be  modified  ;  it  is  for  this  reason  the  doer  of  ill  should 
be  destroyed  upon  the  scaffold.  From  thence  the  good 
effects  of  education,  of  pleasure,  of  grief,  of  grandeur,  of 
poverty,  &c.  ;  from  thence  a  philosophy  full  of  pity, 
strongly  attached  to  the  good,  nor  more  angry  with  the 
wicked  than  the  whirlwind  which  fills  one's  eyes  with 
dust.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  but  one  sort  of  causes, 
that  is,  physical  causes.  There  is  but  one  sort  of  necessity, 
which  is  the  same  for  all  beings.  This  is  what  reconciles 
me  to  human  kind  ;  it  is  for  this  reason  I  exhort  you  to 
philanthropy.  Adopt  these  principles  if  you  think  them 
good,  or  show  me  that  they  are  bad.  If  you  adopt  them 
24 


278  FREE    AGENCY. 

they  will  reconcile  you,  too,  with  others  and  with  your- 
self ;  you  will  neither  be  pleased  nor  angry  with  yourself 
for  being  what  you  are.  Reproach  others  for  nothing, 
and  repent  of  nothing  ;  this  is  the  first  step  to  wisdom. 
Besides  this,  all  is  prejudice  and  false  philosophy."  * 

Substantially  the  same  doctrines  have  been  recently  in- 
troduced into  this  country,  and  I  have  no  doubt  with  good 
intentions,  by  a  very  different  class  of  philosophers,  the 
greater  part  of  whom  have  labored  hard  to  dispute  the 
connection  between  the  premises  and  some  of  the  conclu- 
sions. Not  so  Mr.  Belsharu.  il  Remorse,"  says  he,  "is  the 
exquisitely  painful  feeling  which  arises  from  the  belief,  that, 
in  circumstances  precisely  the  same,  we  might  have  chosen 
and  acted  differently.  This/aJ/aciotw  feeling  is  supersed- 
ed by  the  doctrine  of  necessity."  And  again,  —  "  The 
doctrine  of  philosophical  necessity  supersedes  remorse, 
so  far  as  remorse  is  founded  upon  the  belief,  that,  in  the 
same  previous  circumstances,  it  was  possible  to  have  acted 
otherwise."  In  another  part  of  Mr.  Belsham's  work  the 
following  observation  occurs  : —  "  Remorse  supposes  free- 
will. It  arises  from  forgetfulness  of  the  precise  state  of 
mind  when  the  action  was  performed.  It  is  of  little  or  no 
use  in  moral  discipline.  In  a  degree  it  is  even  perni- 
cious." As  to  our  moral  sentiments  concerning  the  con- 
duct and  character  of  our  fellow-creatures,  Mr.  Belsham 
is  of  opinion  that  the  doctrine  of  necessity  conciliates  good- 
will to  men.  "By  teaching  us  to  look  up  to  God  as  the 
prime  agent,  and  the  proper  cause  of  every  thing  that  hap- 
pens, and  to  regard  men  as  nothing  more  than  instruments 
which  he  employs  for  accomplishing  his  good  pleasure,  it 
tends  to  suppress  all  resentment,  malice,  and  revenge  ;  while 
it  induces  us  to  regard  our  worst  enemies  with  compassion 
rather  than  with  hatred,  and  to  return  good  for  evil."  f 

From  these  extracts  it  appears  that  Mr.  Belsham  is  not 
only  himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  doctrine  of  ne- 

*  Correspondance  Litte'raire,  Philosophiquc  et  Critique,  Tom.  II.  pp. 
56, 60  et  seq. 

t  Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  the  Mind,  pp.  284,  307,  316,  406. 
"  The  doctrine  of  necessity,'  says  Dr.  Hartley, "  has  a  tendency  to  abate 
all  resentment  against  men.  Since  all  they  do  against  us  is  by  the  ap- 
pointment of  God,  it  is  rebellion  against  him  to  be  offended  witn  them." 
Observations  on  Man,  Part  I.,  Conclusion. 


ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY.  279 

cessity,  considered  as  a  philosophical  dogma,  but  that  he 
conceives  it  would  be  for  the  advantage  of  the  world  if  all 
mankind  were  to  become  converts  to  his  way  of  thinking. 
In  this  respect  his  system  is  certainly  much  more  of  a  piece 
than  that  of  Lord  Kames,  who,  although  he  adopts  zeal- 
ously the  doctrine  of  necessity,  and  represents  the  argument 
in  support  of  it  as  demonstrative,  yet  candidly  acknowl- 
edges that  our  natural  feelings  are  adverse  to  that  doctrine  ; 
and  even  goes  so  far  as  to  say,  that,  without  such  a  feel- 
ing, the  business  of  society  could  not  be  carried  on.  In  this 
dilemma  he  attempts  to  reconcile  the  two  opinions,  by  the 
supposition  of  a  deceitful  sense  of  liberty.  We  are  so  form- 
ed as  to  believe  that  we  are  free  agents,  when  in  truth  we 
are  mere  machines,  acting  only  so  far  as  we  are  acted  upon. 
Perhaps  no  opinion  on  the  subject  of  necessity  was  ever 
offered  to  the  public  which  excited  more  general  opposi- 
tion than  this  hypothesis  of  a  deceitful  sense  ;  and  yet,  if 
the  argument  for  necessity  be  admitted,  I  do  not  see  any 
other  supposition  which  can  possibly  reconcile  the  con- 
clusions of  our  reason  with  the  feelings  of  which  every 
man  is  conscious.  Not  that  I  would  insinuate  any  apology 
for  a  doctrine,  the  absurdity  of  which  is  not  only  obvious, 
but  ludicrous,  inasmuch  as  it  involves  the  supposition  that 
the  Deity  intended  that  his  creatures  should  believe  them- 
selves to  be  free  agents  ;  and  that,  while  the  great  mass  of 
mankind  were  thus  deceived  to  their  own  advantage,  a 
few  minds  of  a  superior  order  had  the  metaphysical  sagac- 
ity to  detect  the  imposition.  Nor  is  this  all.  If  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity  be  just,  it  must  one  day  or  another  be- 
come the  universal  and  popular  creed  of  mankind,  as  every 
doctrine  which  is  true,  and  more  especially  every  doctrine 
which  is  supported  by  demonstrative  evidence,  may  be 
expected  to  become  in  the  progress  of  human  reason. 
What  will  then  become  of  the  great  concerns  of  human 
life  ?  Will  man,  as  he  improves  in  knowledge,  be  unfitted 
for  the  ends  of  his  being,  and  exhibit  an  inconsistency  be- 
tween his  reasoning  faculties  and  his  active  principles, 
contrary  to  the  invariable  analogy  of  that  systematical  and 
harmonious  design  which  is  everywhere  else  so  conspic- 
uous in  the  works  of  nature  ?  * 

*  This  argument  is  very  ably  and  forcibly  stated  in  a  small  pamphlet 


280  FREE    AGENCY. 

Lord  Kames,  who  was  a  most  sincere  inquirer  after 
truth,  abandoned,  in  the  last  edition  of  his  Essays  on 
Morality  and  Natural  Religion,  the  doctrine  of  a  deceit- 
ful sense  of  liberty  ;  and  in  so  doing  gave  a  rare  example 
of  candor  and  fairness  as  a  reasoner.  But  I  am  very 
doubtful  if  the  alterations  which  he  made  in  his  scheme  did 
not  impair  the  merits  which  in  its  original  concoction  it 
possessed  in  point  of  consistency.  The  first  edition  of 
this  work  appeared  when  the  author  was  in  the  full  vigor 
of  his  faculties  ;  the  last,  when  he  was  approaching  to 
fourscore.* 

on  liberty  and  necessity,  by  the  late  learned  and  ingenious  Mr.  Daw- 
son,  of  Sedbergh. 

*  One  of  the  ablest  of  the  living  asserters  of  necessity,  John  Stuart 
Mill,  acknowledges,  and  endeavours  to  correct,  the  fatalistic  implications 
and  tendencies  of  that  doctrine,  as  generally  received.  We  will  give  his 
own  words :  — 

"  Though  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  as  stated  by  most  who  hold  it,  is 
very  remote  from  fatalism,  it  is  probable  that  most  necessarians  are 
fatalists,  more  or  less,  in  their  feelings  A  fatalist  believes,  or  half  be- 
lieves (for  nobody  is  a  consistent  fatalist),  not  only  that  whatever  is 
about  to  happen  will  be  the  infallible  result  of  the  causes  which  pro- 
duce it  (which  is  the  true  necessarian  doctrine),  but  moreover  that  there 
is  no  use  in  struggling  against  it ;  that  it  will  happen,  however  we  may 
strive  to  prevent  it.  Now,  a  necessarian,  believing  that  our  actions  fol- 
low from  our  characters,  and  that  our  characters  follow  from  our  organ- 
ization, our  education,  and  our  circumstances,  is  apt  to  be,  with  more  or 
less  of  consciousness  on  his  part,  a  fatalist  as  to  his  own  actions,  and  to 
believe  that  his  nature  is  such,  or  that  his  education  and  circumstances 
have  so  moulded  his  character,  that  nothing  can  now  prevent  him  from 
feeling  and  acting  in  a  particular  way,  or  at  least  that  no  effort  of  his 
own  can  hinder  it.  In  the  words  of  the  sect  [Robert  Owen  and  his  fol- 
lowers] which  in  our  own  day  has'so  perseveringly  inculcated,  and  so 
perversely  misunderstood,  this  great  doctrine,  hischaracter  is  formed  for 
him.  and  not  by  him  ;  therefore  his  wishing  that  it  had  been  formed  dif- 
ferently is  of  no  use, —  he  has  no  power  to  alter  it.  But  this  is  a  grand 
error.  He  has,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  power  to  alter  his  character.  Its 
being,  in  the  ultimate  resort,  formed  for  him,  is  not  inconsistent  with  its 
being,  in  part,  formed  by  him  as  one  of  the  intermediate  agents.  His 
character  is  formed  by  his  circumstances  (including  among  these  his 
particular  organization) ;  but  his  own  desire  to  mould  it  in  a  particular 
way  is  one  of  those  circumstances,  and  by  no  means  one  of  the  least 
influential.  We  cannot,  indeed,  directly  will  to  be  different  from  what 
we  are.  But  did  those  who  are  supposed  to  have  formed  our  charac- 
ters directly  will  that  we  should  be  what  we  are?  Their  will  had  no 
direct  power  except  over  their  own  actions.  They  made  us  what  they 
did  make  us,  by  willing,  not  the  end,  but  the  requisite  means ;  and  we, 
when  our  habits  are  not  too  inveterate,  can,  by  similarly  willing  the 
requisite  means,  make  ourselves  different.  If  they  could  place  us  under 
the  influence  of  certain  circumstances,  we,  in  like  manner,  can  place 
ourselves  under  the  influence  of  other  circumstances.  We  are  exactly 


EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  281 

h 


SECTION  III. 


IS    THE    EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS     IN    FAVOR    OF    THE 
SCHEME  OF   FREE-WILL,  OR  OF  THAT  OF  NECESSITY  ? 

I.    The  Appeal  to  Consciousness.]     It  has  been  lately 
said,  by  a  very  ingenious  and  acute  writer,  that  "  in  the 

as  capable  of  making  our  own  character,  if  we  will, as  others  are  of  mak- 
ing it  for  us. 

"'Yes,'  answers  the  Owenite, '  but  these  words,  "if  we  will,"  sur- 
render the  whole  point :  since  the  will  to  alter  our  own  character  is 
given  us,  not  by  any  efforts  of  ours,  but  by  circumstances  whicli  we 
cannot  help  ;  it  comes  to  us  either  from  external  causes,  or  not  at  all.' 
Most  true :  if  the  Owenite  stops  here,  he  is  in  a  position  from  which 
nothing  can  expel  him.  Our  character  is  formed  by  us,  as  well  as  for 
us;  but  the  wish  which  induces  us  to  attempt  to  form  it  is  formed  for 
us.  And  how  ?  Not,  in  general,  by  our  organization  or  education,  but  by 
our  experience, —  experience  of  the  painful  consequences  of  the  character 
we  previously  had  ;  or  by  some  strong  feeling  of  admiration  or  aspira- 
tion, accidentally  aroused.  But  to  think  that  we  haze  no  power,  and  to 
think  that  we  shall  not  use  our  power  unless  we  have  a  motive,  are 
very  different  things,  and  have  a  very  different  effect  upon  the  mind. 
A  person  who  does  not  wish  to  alter  his  character  cannot  be  the  per- 
son who  is  supposed  to  feel  discouraged  or  paralyzed  by  thinking  him- 
self unable  to  do  it.  The  depressing  effect  of  the  fatalist  doctrine  can 
only  be  felt  where  there  is  a  wish  to  do  what  that  doctrine  represents 
as  impossible.  It  is  of  no  consequence  what  we  think  forms  our  char- 
acter when  we  have  no  desire  of  our  own  about  forming  it ;  but  it  is  of 
great  consequence  that  we  should  not  be  prevented  from  forming  such  a 
desire  by  thinking  the  attainment  impracticable,  and  that,  if  we  have  the 
desire,  we  should  know  that  the  work  is  not  so  irrevocably  done  as  to 
be  incapable  of  being  altered 

"  The  subject  will  never  be  generally  understood,  until  that  objec- 
tionable term  [necessity]  is  dropped.  The  free-will  doctrine,  by  keep- 
ing in  view  precisely  tfiat  portion  of  the  truth  which  the  word  necessity 
puts  out  of  sight,  —  namely,  the  power  of  the  mind  to  cooperate  in  the 
formation  of  its  own  character, —  has  given  to  its  adherents  a  practical 
feeling  much  nearer  to  the  truth  than  has  generally,  I  believe,  existed 
in  the  minds  of  necessarians.  The  latter  may  have  had  a  stronger 
sense  of  the  importance  of  what  human  beings  can  do  to  shape  the  char- 
acters of  one  another  ;  but  the  free-will  doctrine  has,  I  believe,  fostered, 
especially  in  the  younger  of  its  supporters,  a  much  stronger  spirit  of 
self-culture." —  System  of  Logic,  Book  VI.  Chap.  ii.  §  3. 

The  concessions  contained  in  the  last  paragraph,  considered  as  com- 
ing from  a  thorough-going  necessitarian,  are  important.  The  modifica- 
tion in  the  understanding  of  the  doctrine  here  proposed  removes  some 
of  the  purely  psychological  objections  to  it,  but  does  not  touch  the 
moral  objections.  The  doctrine  is  still  as  irreconcilable  as  ever  with 
any  intelligible  acceptation  of  human  accountability,  or  the  moral  gov- 
ernment of  God.  And  besides,  when  Mr.  Mill  asserts  that  "  the  feel- 
ing of  moral  freedom  which  we  are  conscious  of"  is  nothing  but  a 
24* 


282  FREE    AGENCY. 

controversy  concerning  liberty  and  necessity,  the  only 
question  at  issue  between  the  disputants  related  to  a  matter 
of  fact,  on  which  they  both  appealed  to  the  evidence  of 
consciousness  ;  namely,  whether,  all  previous  circum- 
stances being  the  same,  the  choice  of  man  be  not  also  at 
all  times  the  same."* 

If  the  author  of  this  observation  had  contented  himself 
with  saying  that  this  question  concerning  the  matter  of  fact, 
as  ascertained  by  the  evidence  of  consciousness,  ought  to 
have  been  considered  as  the  only  point  at  issue  between 
the  contending  parties,  I  should  most  readily  have  sub- 
scribed to  his  proposition.  Indeed,  I  have  expressed 
myself  very  nearly  to  the  same  purpose  in  a  former  work.f 
But  if  it  is  to  be  understood  as  an  historical  statement  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  controversy  has  always  or  even 
most  frequently  been  carried  on,  I  must  beg  leave  to  dis- 
sent from  it  very  widely.  How  many  arguments  against 
the  freedom  of  the  will  have  been  in  all  ages  drawn  from 
the  prescience  of  the  Deity  !  How  many  still  continue  to 
be  drawn  by  very  eminent  divines  from  the  doctrines  of 
predestination  and  of  eternal  decrees  !  Has  not  Mr. 
Locke  himself  acknowledged  the  impression  which  the 
former  of  these  considerations  made  on  his  mind  ?  "  I 
own,"  says  he,  "  freely  to  you  the  weakness  of  my  under- 
standing ;  that  though  it  be  unquestionable  that  there  is 
omnipotence  and  omniscience  in  God  our  Maker,  and 
though  /  cannot  have  a  clearer  perception  of  any  thing 
than  that  I  am  free,  yet  I  cannot  make  freedom  in  man 
consistent  with  omnipotence  and  omniscience  in  God, 
though  I  am  as  fully  persuaded  of  both  as  of  any  truth  I 
most  firmly  assent  to  ;  and  therefore  I  have  long  since 
given  off  the  consideration  of  that  question,  resolving  all 
into  this  short  conclusion,  that  if  it  be  possible  for  God 
to  make  a  free  agent,  then  man  is  free,  though  I  see  not 
the  way  of  it." 

"  feeling  of  our  being  able  to  modify  our  own  character  if  we  wish,"  he 
asserts  what  the  advocates  of  free-will  will  not  admit  to  be  true.     If 
\vh;it  we  do  depends  on  our  wishing  to  do  it,  and  our  wishing  to  do  it 
does  not  depend  on  ourselves,  then  nothing  depends  on  ourselves, — 
except  to  be  the  willing  and  active  instruments  of  destiny.  —  ED. 
*  Edinburgh  Review,  Vol.  XXVII.  p.  226.  [By  Sir  James  Mackintosh.] 
t  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Mind,  Part  II.  Chap.  i.  Sect.  ii. 


EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  283 

A  still  more  recent  exception  to  the  general  assertion, 
which  has  given  occasion  to  this  section,  occurs  in  Lord 
Kames's  hypothesis  of  a  deceitful  sense  of  liberty,  noticed 
above,  as  maintained  in  the  first  edition  of  his  Essays  on 
Morality  and  Natural  Religion.  Here,  upon  the  faith  of 
some  subtile  metaphysical  reasonings,  the  very  ingenious 
author  adopts  the  scheme  of  necessity  in  direct  opposition 
to  the  evidence  which  he  candidly  confesses  that  con- 
sciousness affords  of  our  free  agency.  Even  the  latest 
advocates  for  necessity,  Priestley  and  Belsham,  as  well  as 
their  predecessor,  Collins  himself,  while  they  appealed 
(in  the  very  words  of  the  learned  critic)  to  the  evidence 
of  consciousness  in  proof  of  the  fact,  that ,  all  previous  cir- 
cumstances being  the  same,  the  choice  of  man  is  also  at  all 
times  the  same,  yet  thought  it  worth  their  while  to  strengthen 
this  conclusion  by  calling  to  their  aid  the  theological  doc- 
trines already  mentioned.  I  cannot,  therefore,  see  with 
what  color  of  plausibility  it  can  be  said  that  "  this  matter 
of  fact  has  been  the  only  question  at  issue  between  the 
disputants." 

It  may,  however,  be  regarded  as  one  great  step  gained 
in  this  controversy,  if  it  may  henceforth  be  assumed  as  a 
principle  agreed  on  by  both  parties,  that  this  is  the  only 
question  which  can  be  philosophically  stated  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  that  all  arguments  drawn  from  the  attributes  of 
the  Deity  are  entirely  foreign  to  the  discussion.  I  shall 
accordingly  devote  this  section  to  an  examination  of  the 
fact,  agreeably  to  the  representation  of  it  given  by  our 
modern  necessitarians. 

In  what  I  have  hitherto  said  upon  the  subject,  I  have 
proceeded  on  the  supposition,  that  the  doctrine  of  free- 
will is  consistent  with  the  common  feelings  and  belief  of 
mankind.  That  "all  our  actions  do  now,  in  experience, 
seem  to  us  to  be  free,  exactly  in  the  same  manner  as  they 
would  do  upon  the  supposition  of  our  being  really  free 
agents,"  is  remarked  by  Clarke  in  his  reply  to  Collins. 
"  And  consequently,"  he  adds,  "though  this  alone  does 
not  amount  to  a  strict  demonstration  of  our  being  free,  yet 
it  leaves  on  the  other  side  of  the  question  nothing  but  a 
bare  possibility  of  our  being  so  framed  by  the  Author  of 
nature,  as  to  be  unavoidably  deceived  in  this  matter  by 


284  FREE    AGENCY. 

every  experience  and  every  action  we  perform.  The 
case  is  exactly  the  same,"  continues  Dr.  Clarke,  "  as  in 
that  notable  question,  whether  the  world  exists  or  no. 
There  is  no  demonstration  of  it  from  experience.  There 
always  remains  o  bare  possibility  that  the  Supreme  Being 
may  have  so  framed  my  mind  as  that  I  shall  always  ne- 
cessarily be  deceived  in  every  one  of  my  perceptions,  as 
in  a  dream,  though  possibly  there  be  no  material  icorW, 
nor  any  other  creature  whatsoever  existing  besides  my- 
self. Of  this  I  say  there  always  remains  a  bare  possibil- 
ity, and  yet  no  man  in  his  senses  argues  from  thence  that 
experience  is  no  proof  to  us  of  the  existence  of  things."  *  /^ 

*  Remarks,  p.  19. 

Cousin  maintains  liberty  on  the  authority  of  consciousness.  A  free 
action  is  defined  by  him  to  be  one  "performed  with  the  consciousness 
of  power  not  to  do  it."  He  then  proceeds  to  analyze  a  free  action  in 
order  to  ascertain  precisely  in  what  part  it  is  free.  According  to  him, 
the  total  action  is  resolvable  into  three  elements,  perfectly  distinct:  — 
"  1.  The  intellectual  element,  which  is  composed  of  the  knowledge  of 
the  motives  for  and  against,  of  deliberation,  of  preference,  of  choice. 
2.  The  voluntary  element,  which  consists  in  an  internal  act,  namely, 
the  resolution,  the  determination  to  do  it.  3.  The  physical  element,  or 
external  action. 

"  The  question  now  to  be  decided  is,  precisely  in  which  of  these  three 
elements  liberty  id  to  be  found,  —  that  is,  the  power  of  doing  with  the 
consciousness  of  being  able  not  to  do.  Does  this  power  of  doing,  while 
conscious  of  the  power  not  to  do,  belong  to  the  first  element,  the  intel- 
lectual element  of  the  free  action  ?  It  does  not;  for  it  is  not  at  the  will 
of  a  man  to  judge  that  such  or  such  a  motive  is  preferable  to  another; 
we  are  not  master  of  our  preferences ;  we  judge  in  this  respect  accord- 
ing to  our  intellectual  nature,  which  has  its  necessary  laws,  without 
having  the  consciousness  of  being  able  to  judge  otherwise,  and  even 
with  the  consciousness  of  not  being  able  to  judge  otherwise,  than  we 
do.  It  is  not,  then,  in  this  element  that  we  are  to  look  for  liberty.  Still 
less  is  it  in  the  third  element,  in  the  physical  action  :  for  this  action 
supposes  an  external  world,  an  organization  corresponding  to  it,  and,  in 
this  organization,  a  muscular  system  sound  and  suitable,  without  which 
the  physical  action  would  be  impossible.  When  we  accomplish  it,  we 
are  conscious  of  acting,  but  under  the  condition  of  a  theatre  of  which 
we  have  not  the  disposal,  and  of  instruments  of  which  we  have  but  an 
imperfect  disposal,  which  we  can  neither  replace  if  they  escape  us, —  and 
they  may  do  so  every  moment,  —  nor  repair  if  they  are  out  of  order  or 
unfaithful,  as  is  often  the  case,  and  which  are  subject  to  laws  peculiar  to 
themselves,  over  which  we  have  no  power,  and  which  we  scarcely  even 
know.  Whence  it  follows,  that  we  do  not  act  here  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  able  to  do  the  contrary  of  what  we  do.  Liberty,  then,  is 
no  more  to  be  found  in  the  third  than  in  the  first  element.  It  can  then 
only  be  in  the  second;  and  there  in  fact  we  find  it. 

"  Neglect  the  first  and  third  elements,  the  judgment  and  the  physical 
action,  and  let  the  second  element,  the  witting,  subsist  by  itself;  anal- 


EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  285 

II.  Consciousness  vainly  denied  to  be  in  favor  of  Lib- 
erty.] But  this  appeal  to  consciousness  in  proof  of  free 
agency  proceeds  altogether  (according  to  some  late  writ- 
ers) on  a  partial  and  superficial  view  of  the  subject  ;  the 
evidence  of  consciousness,  when  all  circumstances  are 
taken  into  the  account  and  duly  weighed,  being  decidedly 
in  favor  of  the  scheme  of  necessity. 

Dr.  Hartley  was,  I  believe,  one  of  the  first  (if  not  the 
first)  who  denied  that  our  consciousness  is  in  favor  of  our 
free  agency.  "  It  is  true,"  he  observes,  "that  a  man  by 
internal  feeling  may  prove  his  own  free-will,  if  by  free-will 
be  meant  the  power  of  doing  what  a  man  wills  or  desires  ; 
or  of  resisting  the  motives  of  sensuality,  ambition,  &c., 
that  is,  free-will  in  the  popular  and  practical  sense.  Every 
person  may  easily  recollect  instances  where  he  has  done 
these  several  things,  but  these  are  entirely  foreign  to  the 
present  question.  To  prove  that  a  man  has  free-will  in 
the  sense  opposite  to  mechanism,  he  ought  to  feel  that  he 
can  do  different  things  while  the  motives  remain  precisely 
the  same.  And  here,  I  apprehend,  the  internal  feelings 
are  entirely  against  free-will,  where  the  motives  are  of  a 
sufficient  magnitude  to  be  evident :  where  they  are  not, 
nothing  can  be  proved."  * 

Mr.  Belsham  has  enlarged  still  more  fully  on  this  sub- 
ject. "  When  men,"  says  he,  "  who  have  been  guilty 
of  a  crime  review  the  action  in  calmer  moments,  when  the 
strength  of  passion  has  subsided,  and  the  contrary  motives 

ysis  discovers  in  this  single  element  two  terms,  namely,  a  special  act  of 
willing,  and  the  power  of  willing,  which  is  within  us,  and  to  which  we 
refer  the  special  act.  That  act  is  an  effect  in  relation  to  the  power  of 
willing,  which  is  its  cause;  and  this  cause,  in  order  to  produce  its  effect, 
has  need  of  no  other  theatre,  and  no  other  instrument,  than  itself.  It 
produces  it  directly,  without  any  thing  intermediate,  and  without  con- 
dition ;  continues  and  consummates,  or  suspends  and  modifies;  creates 
it,  or  annihilates  it  entirely ;  and  at  the  moment  it  exerts  itself  in  any 
special  act,  we  are  conscious  that  it  might  exert  itself  in  a  special  act 
totally  contrary,  without  any  obstacle,  without  being  thereby  exhausted  : 
so  that,  after  having  changed  its  acts  a  hundred  times,  the  faculty  re- 
mains integrally  the  same,  inexhaustible  and  identical,  amidst  the  per- 
petual variety  of  its  applications,  being  always  able  to  do  what  it  does 
not  do,  and  able  not  to  do  what  it  does.  Here,  then,  in  all  its  pleni- 
tude, is  the  characteristic  of  liberty." — Professor  Henry's  translation, 
Elements  of  Psychology,  Chap.  X.  p.  319.  See,  also,  Tappan's  Doctrine 
of  the  Will  determined  by  an  Appeal  to  Consciousness.  —  LD. 
*  Observations  on  Man,  Part  I.,  Conclusion. 


286  FREE    AGENCY. 

appear  in  all  their  force,  and  perhaps  magnified  by  the 
evil  consequences  of  their  vice  and  folly,  they  are  ready 
to  think  that  they  might  at  the  time  have  thought  and  act- 
ed as  they  now  think  and  act  ;  but  this  is  a  fallacious  feel- 
ing, and  arises  from  their  not  placing  themselves  in  cir- 
cumstances exactly  similar."  We  are  elsewhere  told  by 
Mr.  Belsham,  that  the  popular  opinion,  that  in  many  cases 
it  was  in  the  power  of  the  agent  to  have  chosen  differently, 
the  previous  circumstances  remaining  exactly  the  same, 
arises  either  from  a  mistake  of  the  question,  from  aforget- 
fulness  of  the  motives  by  which  our  choice  tea*  determined, 
or  from  the  extreme  difficulty  of  placing  ourselves  in  im- 
magination  in  circumstances  exactly  similar  to  those  in 
which  the  election  was  made."  And  still  more  explicitly 
and  concisely  in  the  following  aphorism :  —  "  The  pre- 
tended consciousness  of  free-will  amounts  to  nothing  more 
than  forgetfulness  of  the  motive.".*  To  the  same  pur- 
pose Dr.  Priestley  has  expressed  himself.  "A  man,  when 
he  reproaches  himself  for  any  particular  action  in  his  past 
conduct,  may  fancy  that,  if  he  was  in  the  same  situation 
again,  he  would  have  acted  differently.  But  this  is  a 
mere  deception  ;  and  if  he  examines  himself  strictly,  and 
takes  in  all  circumstances,  he  may  be  satisfied  that,  with 
the  same  inward  disposition  of  mind,  and  with  precisely 
the  same  views  of  things  that  he  had  then,  and  exclusive  of 
all  others  that  he  has  acquired  by  reflection  since,  he  could 
not  have  acted  otherwise  than  he  did."  f 

If  these  statements  be  accurately  examined,  they  will 
be  found  to  resolve  entirely  into  this  identical  proposition, 
that  the  will  of  the  criminal,  being  supposed  to  remain  in 

*  Elements,  pp.  278,  279,  306. 

t  Illustrations  of  Philosophical  Necessity,  p.  99. 

The  very  same  view  of  the  subject  has  been  lately  taken  by  Laplace, 
in  his  Essai  Philosophique  sur  les  Probabilites.  "  L'axiome  connu  sous 
le  noin  de  principe  de  la  raison  suffisnnte  s'etend  aux  actions  meme  que 
1'on  juge  indifferentes.  La  volonte  la  plus  libre  ne  peut  sans  un  motif 
determinant  leur  donner  naissance ;  car  si,  toutes  les  circonstances  de 
deux  positions  etant  exacteraent  semblables,  ellc  agissait  dans  Tune  et 
s'abstenait  d'agir  dans  I'autre,  son  choix  serait  un  enet  sans  cause  :  elle 
serait  alors,  dit  Leibnitz,  le  hasard  aveugle  des  epicuriens.  L'opinion 
contraire  est  une  illusion  de  1'esprit  qui  perdant  de  vue  les  raisons  fugi- 
tives du  choix  de  la  volonte  dans  les  choses  indifferentes,  se  persuade 
qu'elle  s'est  dcterminee  d'elle-ineme  et  sans  motifs." —  Under  tne  head, 
De  la  Probability. 


EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  287 

the  same  state  as  when  the  crime  was  committed,  he  could 
not  have  willed  and  acted  otherwise.  This  proposition, 
it  is  obvious,  does  not  at  all  touch  the  cardinal  point  in 
question,  which  is  simply  this  :  whether,  all  other  circum- 
stances remaining  the  same,  the  criminal  had  it  not  in  his 
power  to  abstain  from  willing  the  commission  of  the  crime. 
The  vagueness  of  Priestley's  language  upon  this  occasion 
must  not  be  overlooked  ;  the  words  inward  disposition  of 
mind  admitting  of  a  variety  of  different  meanings,  and  in 
this  instance  being  plainly  intended  to  include  the  act  of 
the  will  as  well  as  every  thing  else  connected  with  the 
criminal  action. 

In  the  preceding  strictures,  I  have  been  partly  antici- 
pated by  the  following  very  acute  remarks  of  Dr.  Magee 
on  the  definitions  of  volition  and  of  philosophical  liberty, 
prefixed  to  Mr.  Belsham's  discussion  of  the  doctrines  now 
under  our  consideratipn.  According  to  Mr.  Belsham, 
"  Volition  is  that  state  of  mind  which  is  immediately  pre- 
vious to  actions  which  are  called  voluntary."  "  Natural 
liberty ,  or,  as  it  is  more  properly  called,  philosophical 
liberty,  or  liberty  of  choice,  is  the  power  of  doing  an  ac- 
tion or  its  contrary,  all  the  previous  circumstances  remain- 
ing the  same."  *  —  "  Now  here,"  says  Dr.  Magee,  "  is 
the  point  of  free-will  at  once  decided  ;  for  volition  itself 
being  included  among  the  previous  circumstances,  it  is  a 
manifest  contradiction  to  suppose  the  '  power  of  doing  an 
action  or  its  contrary,  all  the  previous  circumstances  re- 
maining the  same '  ;  since  that  supposes  the  power  to  act 
voluntarily  against  a  volition.  After  this,"  Dr.  Magee 
justly  and  pertinently  adds,  "  Mr.  Belsham  might  surely 
have  spared  himself  the  trouble  of  the  ninety-two  pages 
which  follow."  f 

And  why  have  recourse,  with  Belsham  and  Priestley, 
in  this  argument,  to  the  indistinct  and  imperfect  recollec- 
tion of  the  criminal  at  a  subsequent  period,  with  respect  to 
the  state  of  his  feelings  while  he  was  perpetrating  the 
crime  ?  Why  not  make  a  direct  appeal  to  his  conscious- 
ness at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  doing  the  deed  ? 

*  Elements,  p.  227. 

t  Discourses  and  Dissertations  on  the  Scriptural  Doctrines  of  Atonement 
and  Sacrifice,  Appendix,  Vol.  II.  p.  180,  note. 


288  FREE    AGENCY. 

/ 

Will  any  person  of  candor  deny,  that,  in  the  very  act  of 
transgressing  an  acknowledged  duty,  he  is  impressed  with 
a  conviction,  as  complete  as  that  of  his  own  existence, 
that  his  will  is  free,  and  that  he  is  abusing,  contrary  to  the 
suggestions  of  reason  and  conscience,  his  moral  liberty  ?* 

Sometimes,  indeed,  when  we  are  under  the  influence 
of  a  violent  appetite  or  passion,  our  judgment  is  apt  to  see 
things  in  a  false  light ;  and  hence  a  wise  man  learns  to  dis- 
trust his  own  opinion  when  he  is  thus  circumstanced,  and 
to  act,  not  according  to  his  present  judgment,  but  accord- 
ing to  those  general  maxims  of  propriety  of  which  his 
reason  had  previously  approved  in  his  cooler  hours.  All 
this,  however,  evidently  proceeds  on  the  supposition  of 
his  free  agency  ;  and,  so  far  from  implying  any  belief  on 
his  part  of  fatalism  or  of  moral  necessity,  evinces  in  a 
manner  peculiarly  striking  and  satisfactory,  the  power 
which  he  feels  himself  to  possess,  got  only  over  the  pres- 
ent, but  over  the  future  determinations  of  his  will.  In 
some  other  instances,  it  happens  that  I  believe  bond  fide 
an  action  to  be  right,  at  the  moment  I  perform  it,  and 
afterwards  discover  that  I  judged  improperly  ;  —  perhaps 
from  want  of  sufficient  information,  or  from  a  careless  and 
partial  view  of  the  subject.  In  such  a  case,  I  may  un- 
doubtedly regret  as  a  misfortune  what  has  happened.  I 
may  blame  myself  for  my  carelessness  in  not  having  ac- 
quired the  proper  information  before  I  acted  ;  but  I  can- 
not consider  myself  as  criminal  in  acting  at  that  moment 
according  to  the  views  which  I  then  entertained.  On  the 
contrary,  if  I  had  acted  in  opposition  to  these  views, 
although  my  conduct  might  have  been  agreeable  to  the 
dictates  of  a  more  enlightened  understanding  than  my  own, 
yet,  with  respect  to  myself,  the  action  would  have  been 
wrong. 

If  the  doctrine  of  necessity  were  just,  what  possible 
foundation  could  there  be  for  the  distinction  we  always 
make  between  an  accidental  hurt  and  an  intended  injury, 
when  received  from  another  ;  or  for  the  different  senti- 
ments of  regret  and  of  remorse  that  we  experience,  accord- 

*  "The  free-will  of  man,"  says  Bolingbroke,  "which  no  one  can 
deny  that  he  has,  without  lying,  or  renouncing  his  intuitive  knowl- 
edge.'' —  Fragments,  No.  XL1I. 


EVIDENCE    OF    CONSCIOUSNESS.  289 

ing  as  the  misfortunes  we  suffer  are  the  consequences  of 
our  own  misconduct  or  not.  What  an  alleviation  of  our 
sufferings  when  we  are  satisfied  that  we  cannot  consider 
ourselves  as  the  authors  of  them  !  and  what  a  cruel  aggra- 
vation of  our  miseries,  when  we  can  trace  them  to  some- 
thing in  which  we  have  been  obviously  to  blan;e  !  *  /S- 

*  Sir  W.  Hamilton  accepts  the  fact  of  moral  liberty  on  the  evidence 
of  consciousness ;  still  he  finds  insuperable  difficulties  \nconceivingof 
its  possibility.  In  a  note  on  Dr.  Reid's  definition  of  the  liberty  of  a 
moral  agent,  he  says:  — "Moral  liberty  does  not  merely  consist  "in  the 
power  of  doing  what  tee  will,  but  in  the  power  of  willing  if  hat  we  will. 
For  a  power  over  the  determinations  of  our  will  supposes  an  act  of  will 
that  our  will  should  determine  so  and  so  ;  for  we  can  only  freely  exert 
power  through  a  rational  determination  or  volition.  But  then  question 
upon  question  remains,  and  this  ad  infiiiitum.  Have  we  a  power  (a 
will)  over  such  anterior  will  ?  and  until  this  question  be  definitively 
answered,  which  it  never  can  be,  we  must  be  unable,  to  conceive  the  possi- 
bility of  the  fact  of  liberty.  But,  though  inconceivable,  this  fact  is  not 
therefore  false.  For  there  are  many  contradictories,  (and  of  contra- 
dictories, one  must,  and  one  6nly  can,  he  true.)  of  whicii  we  are  equally 
unable  to  conceive  the  possibility  of  either.  The  philosophy,  there- 
fore, which  I  profess,  annihilates  the  theoretical  problem,  —  How  is  the 
scheme  of  liberty,  or  the  scheme  of  necessity,  to  be  rendered  compre- 
hensible ?  —  by  showing  that  both  schemes  are  equally  inconceivable  ; 
but  it  establishes  liberty  practically  as  a  fact,  by  showing  that  it  is  either 
itself  an  immediate  datum,  or  is  involved  in  an  immediate  datum,  of 
consciousness." 

Again  he  says :  —  "  To  conceive  a  free  act  is  to  conceive  an  act  which, 
being  a  cause,  is  not  in  itself  an  effect  ;  in  other  words,  to  conceive  an 
absolute  commencement.  But  is  such  by  us  conceivable?"  Accord- 
ing to  him,  in  order  to  be  a  free  agent  it  is  not  enough  that  a  person  is 
the  cause  of  the  determination  of  his  own  will ;  he  must  not  be  "  de- 
termined to  that  determination."  "  But  is  the  person,"  he  asks, "  an 
original  undetermined  cause  of  the  determination  of  his  will  ?  If  he  be 
not,  then  he  is  not  a  free  agent,  and  the  scheme  of  necessity  is  admitted. 
If  he  be,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  the  possibility  of 
this ;  and,  in  the  second,  if  the  fact,  though  inconceivable,  be  allowed, 
it  is  impossible  to  see  how  a  cause  undetermined  by  any  motive  can  be  a 
rational,  moral,  and  accountable  cause.  There  is  no  conceivable  medi- 
um between  fatalism  and  casuism  ;  and  the  contradictory  schemes  of 
liberty  and  necessity  themselves  are  inconceivable.  For  as  we  cannot 
compass  in  thought  an  undetermined  cause,  —  an  absolute  commencement, 
—  the  fundamental  hypothesis  of  the  one  ;  so  we  can  as  little  think  an 
infinite  series  of  detennined  causes,  —  of  relative  commencements,  —  the 
fundamental  hypothesis  of  the  other.  The  champions  of  the  opposite 
doctrines  are  thus  at  once  resistless  in  assault,  and  impotent  in  defence. 
Each  is  hewn  down,  and  appears  to  die  under  the  home-thrusts  of  his 
adversary  ;  but  each  again  recovers  life  from  the  very  death  of  his  an- 
tagonist, and,  to  borrow  a  simile,  both  are  like  the  heroes  in  Valhalla, 
ready  in  a  moment  to  amuse  themselves  anew  in  the  bloodless  and  in- 
terminable conflict. 

"  The  doctrine  of  moral  liberty  cannot  be  made  conceivable,  for  we 

25 


290  FREE    AGENCY. 


SECTION  IV. 

OF  THE  SCHEMES  OF  FREE-WILL,   AND  OF  NECESSITY,    CON- 
SIDERED AS  INFLUENCING  PRACTICE. 

I.  Tendency  of  the  Scheme  of  Necessity  to  Pantheism 
and  *#//ieism.]  Collins,  in  his  inquiry  concerning  human 
liberty,  after  endeavouring  to  show  that  "  liberty  can  only 
be  grounded  on  the  '  absurd  principles  of  Epicurean  athe- 
ism,' "  observes,  that  "  the  Epicurean  atheists,  who  were 
the  most  popular  and  most  numerous  sect  of  the  atheists 
of  antiquity,  were  the  great  asserters  of  liberty  ;*  as,  on 
the  other  side,  the  Stoics,  who  were  the  most  popular  and 
numerous  sect  among  the  religionists  of  antiquity,  were  the 
great  asserters  of  fate  and  necessity.  The  case  was  also 

can  only  conceive  the  determined  and  the  relative.  As  already  stated, 
all  that  can  be  done  is  to  show, —  1st.  That,  for  the  fact  of  liberty,  we 
have,  immediately  or  mediately,  the  evidence  of  consciousness ;  and, 
2d.  That  there  are,  among  the  phenomena  of  mind,  many  facts  which 
we  must  admit  as  actual,  but  of  whose  possibility  we  are  wholly  unable 
to  form  a  notion.  I  may  merely  observe,  that  the  fact  of  motion  can  be 
shown  to  be  impossible,  on  grounds  not  less  strong  than  those  on  which 
it  is  attempted  to  disprove  the  fact  of  liberty ;  to  say  nothing  of  many 
contradictories,  neither  of  which  can  be  thought,  but  one  of  which  must, 
on  the  laws  of  contradiction  and  excluded  middle,  necessarily  be.  This 
philosophy  —  the  Philosophy  of  the  Conditioned — has  not,  however, 
either  in  itself,  or  in  relation  to  its  consequences,  as  yet  been  devel- 
oped."—  Hamilton's  edition  of  Reid's  Works,  Essays  on  the  Actitt, 
Powers,  Essay  IV.  Chap.  i. 

Kant  comes  to  substantially  the  same  conclusions.  In  his  Critic  of 
Pure  Reason,  under  the  head  of  "  the  antinomy  of  pure  reason"  in  his 
"  Transcendental  Dialectic,"  he  treats  of  liberty  and  necessity  as  con- 
stituting one  of  the  "contradictions  of  transcendental  ideas,"  both  the 
"  thesis"  and  the  "antithesis"  being  demonstrable.  Afterwards,  in  his 
Critic  of  Practical  Reason,  he  maintains  the  fact  of  liberty  as  a  corollary 
of  the  fact  of  moral  obligation.  —  ED. 

*  In  proof  of  this  assertion,  that  the  ancient  Epicureans  were  advo- 
cates for  man's  free  agency,  Collins  refers  to  Lucretius,  Lib.  II.  v.  251 
et  seq.  But  it  is  to  be  observed  that  the  liberty  here  ascribed  to  the  will 
is  nothing  more  than  the  liberty  of  spontaneity,  which  is  conceded  to  it  by 
Collins,  and  indeed  by  all  necessitarians,  without  exception,  since  the 
time  of  Hobbes.  Lucretius,  indeed,  speaks  of  this  liberty  as  an  excep- 
tion to  universal  fatalism ;  but  he  nevertheless  considers  it  as  a  neces- 
sary effect  of  some  cause,  to  which  he  gives  the  name  of  clinamen,  so  as 
to  render  man  as  completely  a  piece  of  passive  mechanism  as  he  was 
supposed  to  be  by  Collins  and  Hobbes.  The  reason,  too,  which  he 
gives  for  this  is,  that,  if  the  case  were  otherwise,  there  would  be  an  rffect 
without  a  cause.  —  Ibid.,  v.  284. 


THE    THEORY    AS    INFLUENCING    PRACTICE.  291 

the  same  among  the  Jews  as  among  the  heathens.*  The 
Sadducees,  who  were  esteemed  an  irreligious  and  atheistf- 
cal  sect,  maintained  the  liberty  of  man.  But  the  Pharisees, 
who  were  a  religious  sect,  ascribed  all  things  to  fate  or  to 
God's  appointment  ;  and  it  was  the  first  article  of  their 
creed,  that  Fate  and  God  do  all ;  and  consequently,  they 
could  not  assert  a  true  liberty,  when  they  asserted  a  liber- 
ty together  with  this  fatality  and  necessity  of  all  things,  "f 
To  the  same  purpose  Edwards  attempts  to  show  (and 
it  is  one  of  the  weakest  parts  of  his  book)  that  the  scheme 
of  free-will  (by  affording  an  exception  to  that  dictate  of 
common  sense  which  leads  us  to  refer  every  event  to  a 
cause)  would  destroy  the  proof  a  posteriori  for  the  being 
of  God.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  the  two  schemes  of 
atheism  and  of  necessity  have  been  hitherto  always  con- 
nected together  in  the  history  of  modern  philosophy  :  not 
that  I  would,  by  any  means,  be  understood  to  say,  that 
every  necessitarian  must  ipso  facto  be  an  atheist,  or  even 
that  any  presumption  is  afforded,  by  a  man's  attachment  to 
the  former  sect,  of  his  having  the  slightest  bias  in  favor  of 
the  latter,  but  only  that  every  modern  atheist  I  have  ever 
heard  of  has  been  a  necessitarian.  I  cannot  help  adding, 
that  by  far  the  ablest  necessitarians  who  have  yet  appeared 
have  been  those  who  followed  out  their  principles  till  they 
ended  in  Spinozism  ;  a  doctrine  which  differs  from  athe- 
ism more  in  words  than  in  reality.}: 

*  With  respect  to  the  opinions  of  the  Sadducees  and  the  Pharisees  on 
man's  free  agency,  see  Cudworth's  Intellectual  System,  with  Mosheim's 
Notes  and  Dissertations,  translated  by  Harrison,  Book  I.  Chap.-i.  §  4. 
According  to  Josephus,  the  Pharisees  held  "  that  some  things,  and  not 
all,  were  the  effects  of  fate,  but  some  things  were  left  in  man's  own 
power  and  liberty."  — Antiq.  JW.,  Lib.  XIII.  Cap.  v.  Sect.  9. 

t  In  this  passage,  as  in  others,  Collins  plainly  proceeds  on  the  sup- 
position, that  all  fatalists  are  of  course  necessitarians  ;  and  I  agree  with 
him  in  thinking,  that  this  would  be  the  case  if  they  reasoned  conse- 
quentially. It  is  certain,  however,  that  a  great  proportion  of  those  who 
have  belonged  to  the  first  sect  have  disclaimed  all  connection  with  the 
second.  The  Stoics  themselves,  notwithstanding  what  is  said  above, 
furnish  one  very  remarkable  instance  I  do  not  know  any  author  by 
whom  the  liberty  of  the  will  is  stated  in  stronger  and  more  explicit 
terms  than  it  is  by  Epictetus,  in  the  first  sentence  of  the  Enchiridion. 
Indeed,  the  Stoics  seem,  with  their  usual  passion  for  exaggeration,  to 
have  carried  their  ideas  about  the  freedom  of  the  will  to  an  unphilo- 
sophical  extreme. 

+  "  The  following  is  Cousin's  view  of  Spinoza's  system.     It  appar- 


292  FREE    AGENCY. 

II.  Moral  and  Political   Tendencies  of  the  Scheme  of 
Necessity.]     In   Bernier's  Abrege,  de  la  Philosophic  de 

ently  differs  from  what  is  said  above,  but  really  tends  to  the  same  con- 
clusions. '  Instead  of  accusing  Spinoza  of  atheism,  he  ought  to  be  re- 
proached for  an  error  in  the  other  direction.  Spinoza  starts  from  the 
perfect  and  infinite  being  of  Descartes's  system,  and  easily  demonstrates 
that  such  a  being  is  alone  being  in  itself ;  but  that  a  being,  finite,  im- 
perfect, and  relative,  only  participates  of  being,  without  possessing  it  in 
itself;  —  that  being  in  itself  is  necessarily  one  ;  —  that  there  is  but  one  sub- 
stance ;  —  and  that  all  that  remains  has  only  a  phenomenal  existence;  — 
that  to  call  phenomena  finite  substances  is  affirming  and  denying  at  the 
same  time  ;  for  as  there  is  but  one  substance  which  possesses  being  in 
itself,  and  the  finite  is  that  which  participates  of  existence  without  pos- 
sessing it  in  itself,  a  substance  finite  implies  two  contradictory  notions. 
Thus,  in  the  philosophy  of  Spinoza,  man  and  nature  are  pure  phenomena, 
simple  attributes  of  that  one  and  absolute  substance,  but  attributes  which 
are  coCternal  with  their  substance  :  for  as  phenomena  cannot  exist  with- 
out a  subject,  the  imperfect  without  the  perfect,  the  finite  without  the 
infinite,  and  man  and  nature  suppose  God  ;  so,  likewise,  the  substance 
cannot  exist  without  phenomena,  the  perfect  without  the  imperfect,  the 
infinite  without  the  finite,  and  God  on  his  part  supposes  man  and  na- 
ture. Tiie  error  of  his  system  lies  in  the  predominance  of  the  relation 
of  phenomenon  to  being,  of  attribute  to  substance,  over  the  relation  of 
effect  to  cause.  When  man  has  been  represented,  not  as  a  cause  volun- 
tary and  free,  but  as  necessary  and  uncontrollable  desire,  and  as  an  im- 
perfect and  finite  thought,  God,  or  the  supreme  pattern  of  humanity, 
can  be  only  a  substance,  and  not  a  cause, —  a  being,  perfect,  infinite, 
necessary,  —  the  immutable  substance  of  the  universe,  and  not  its  produc~ 
ing  and  creating  cause.  In  Cartesianism,  the  notion  of  substance  figures 
more  conspicuously  than  that  of  cause  ;  and  this  notion  of  substance, 
become  altogether  predominant,  constitutes  Spinozism.'  — Histoirede  la 
Philosophic  du  Xy I II'- Stlcle,  Tome  I.  p.  465. 

"  The  preponderance  of  the  notion  of  substance  and  attribute  over  that 
of  cause  and  effect,  which  Cousin  here  pronounces  the  vice  of  Spinoza's 
system,  is  indeed  the  vice  of  every  system  which  contains  the  dogma  of 
the  necessary  determination  of  will.  The  first  consequence  is  panthe- 
ism ;  the  second,  atheism.  I  will  endeavour  to  explain.  When  self- 
determination  is  denied  to  will,  and  it  is  resolved  into  mere  desire, 
necessitated  in  all  its  acts  from  its  preconstituted  correlation  with  ob- 
jects, then  iriU  really  ceases  to  be  a  cause.  It  becomes  an  instrument 
of  antecedent  power,  but  is  no  power  in  itself,  creative  or  productive. 
The  reasoning  employed  in  reference  to  the  human  will  applies  in  all 
its  force  to  the  Divine  will,  as  has  been  already  abundantly  shown. 
The  Divine  will  therefore  ceases  to  be  a  cause,  and  becomes  a  mere 
instrument  of  antecedent  power.  This  antecedent  power  is  the  infinite 
and  necessary  wisdom  :  but  infinite  and  necessary  wisdom  is  eternal  and 
unchangeable;  what  it  is  now,  it  always  was;  what  tendencies  or 
energies  it  has  now,  it  always  had  ;  and  therefore,  whatever  volitions 
it  now  necessarily  produces  it  always  necessarily  produced.  If  we 
conceive  a  volition  to  have  been,  in  one  direction,  the  immediate  and 
necessary  antecedent  of  creation  ;  and,  in  another,  the  immediate  and 
necessary  sequent  of  infinite  and  eternal  wisdom ;  then  this  volition 
must  have  alicaus  existed,  and  consequently  creation,  as  the  necessary 
effect  of  this  volition,  must  have  always  existed.  The  eternal  and  infinite 


THE    THEORY    AS    INFLUENCING    PRACTICE.  293 

Gassendi,  there  are  some  very  judicious  observations  on 
the  practical  tendency  of  the  scheme  of  necessity  ;  —  a 

wisdom  thus  becomes  the  substance,  because  this  is  existence  in  itself,  no 
antecedent  being  conceivable  ;  and  creation,  consisting  of  man  ana!  na- 
ture, imperfect  and  finite,  participating  only  of  existence,  and  not  being 
existence  in  themselves,  are  not  substances,  but  phenomena.  But  what 
is  the  relation  of  the  phenomena  to  the  substance  ?  Not  that  of  effect 
to  cause;  —  this  relation  slides  entirely  out  of  view,  the  moment  will 
ceases  to  be  a  cause.  It  is  the  relation  simply  of  phenomena  to  being, 
considered  as  the  necessary  and  inseparable  manifestations  of  being; 
the  relation  of  attributes  to  substance,  considered  as  the  necessary  and 
inseparable  properties  of  substance.  We  cannot  conceive  of  substance 
without  attributes  or  phenomena,  nor  of  attributes  or  phenomena  with- 
out substance:  they  are,  therefore,  coeternal  in  this  relation.  ft'Ao,  then, 
is  God  ?  Substance  and  its  attributes  ;  being  and,  its  phenomena.  In 
other  words,  the  universe,  as  made  up  of  substance  and  attributes,  is 
God.  This  is  pantheism  ;  and  it  is  the  first  and  legitimate  consequence 
of  a  necessitated  will. 

"  The  second  consequence  is  atheism.  In  the  denial  of  will  as  a 
cause  per  se, —  in  resolving  all  its  volitions  into  the  necessary  phe- 
nomena of  the  eternal  substance, — we  destroy  personality:  we  have 
nothing  remaining  but  the  universe.  Now  we  may  call  the  universe 
God;  but  with  equal  propriety  we  call  God  the  universe.  This  distinc- 
tion of  personality,  this  merging  of  God  into  necessary  substance  and 
attributes,  is  all  that  we  mean  by  atheism.  The  conception  is  really  the 
same,  whether  we  name  it/a*e,  pantheism,  or  atheism. 

"  The  arguments  of  many  atheists  might  be  referred  to,  to  illustrate 
the  connection  between  necessity  and  atheism.  I  shall  here  refer,  how- 
ever, to  only  one  individual,  remarkable  both  for  his  poetic  genius  and 
metaphysical  acumen.  I  mean  the  late  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  He 
openly  and  unblushingly  professed  atheism.  In  his  Queen  Mub  we  find 
this  line  :  '  There  is  no  God.'  In  a  note  upon  this  line,  he  remarks,  — 
'  This  negation  must  be  understood  solely  to  affect  a  creative  Deity. 
The  hypothesis  of  a  pervading  spirit,  coeternal  icith  the  universe,  re- 
mains unshaken.'  This  last  hypothesis  is  pantheism.  Pantheism  is 
really  the  negation  of  a  creative  Deity,  —  the  identity,  or  at  least  neces- 
sary and  eternal  coexistence,  of  God  and  the  universe.  Shelley  has  ex- 
pressed this  clearly  in  another  passage  :  — 

'Spirit  of  nature  !    all-sufficing  power, 
Necessity!  than  mother  of  the  wmrld!' 

"  In  a  note  upon  this  passage,  Shelley  has  argued  the  doctrine  of  the 
necessary  determination  of  will  by  motive  with  an  acuteness  and  power 
scarcely  inferior  to  Collins  or  Edwards.  He  makes,  indeed,  a  different 
application  of  the  doctrine,  but  a  perfectly  legitimate  one.  Collins  and 
Edwards,  and  the  whole  race  of  necessitarian  theologians,  evidently 
toil  und.er  insurmountable  difficulties,  while  attempting  to  base  religion 
upon  this  doctrine,  and  effect  their  escape  only  under  a  fog  of  subtilties. 
But  Shelley,  in  daring  to  be  perfectly  consistent,  is  perfectly  clear.  He 
fearlessly  proceeds  from  necessity  to  pantheism,  and  thence  to  atheism 
and  the  destruction  of  all  moral  distinctions.  '  We  are  taught,'  he  re- 
marks, '  by  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  that  there  is  neither  good  nor  evil 
in  the  universe,  otherwise  than  as  the  events  to  which  we  apply  these 
epithets  have  relation  to  our  own  peculiar  mode  of  being.  Still  less 
25* 


294  FREE    AGENCY. 

subject  on  which  his  opinion  is  entitled  to  great  weight, 
not  only  from  his  long  residence  among  the  followers  of 
Mahomet,  but  from  those  prepossessions  in  favor  of  this 
scheme  which  he  may  be  presumed  to  have  imbibed  from 
his  education  under  Gassendi.  1  shall  quote  a  few  of  his 
concluding  reflections. 

"  De  tout  ceci  jugez  si  j'ai  sujet  de  croire  cette  doc- 
trine si  pernicieuse  a  la  societe  humaine.  Certainernent  a 
considerer  que  ce  sont  principalement  les  Mahometans  qui 
s'en  trouvent  infeclees,  et  que  c'est  principalement  encore 
parmi  elles  presentment  qu'elle  est  fomentee  et  entre- 
tenue,  je  douterois  presque  que  ce  fut  1'invention  de  quel- 
ques  uns  de  ces  tyrans  d'Asie,  comme  auroit  peutetre 
un  Mahomet,  un  Tamerlane,  un  Bajazet,  ou  quelqu'un 
de  ces  autres  fleaux  du  monde  qui  pour  assouvir  leur  am- 
bition demandoit  des  soldats  qui  t-tant  entetes  de  predesti- 
nation, s'abandonassent  brutalement  a  tout,  et  se  precipi- 
tassent  rneme  volontiers,  aux  occasions,  la  tete  la  pre- 
miere dans  le  fossi  d'une  ville  assi«'-gee  pour  servir  du  pont 
au  reste  de  1'armie.  Je  scais  bien  qu'on  pourroit  peut- 
etre dire  que  cette  opinion  est  mal  prise  et  mal  entendue 
par  les  Mahometans  ;  mais  quoi  qu'il  en  soit,  que  doit  on 
raisonablement  penser  d'une  doctrine  qui  peut  si  aisement 
etre  mal-prise  et  qui  peut,  soit  par  erreur  ou  autrement, 
avoir  si  etranges  suites  ?  "  * 

than  with  the  hypothesis  of  a  God,  will  the  doctrine  of  necessity  accord 
with  the  belief  of  a  future  state  of  punishment.'  "  —  Tappan's  Review  of 
Edwards,  pp.  131),  145.  For  an  exposition  of  Spinoza's  theory,  see 
Jouffroy's  Introduction  to  Ethics,  Lect.  VI.  and  VII.  —  ED. 

*  Tome  VIII.  p.  536,  et  sea.  "Judge  from  what  has  been  said 
whether  I  have  not  reason  to  think  this  doctrine  pernicious  to  society. 
Indeed,  when  I  consider  that  it  is  principally  the  Mahometans  who  are 
infected  with  it,  that  it  is  principally  by  them  that  it  is  still  fomented 
and  kept  up,  I  almost  suspect  it  to  nave  been  the  invention  of  one  of 
those  Asiatic  despots,  of  a  Mahomet,  a  Tamerlane,  a  Bajazet,  or  some 
other  scourge  of  the  world,  who,  in  order  to  glut  his  ambition,  required 
soldiers  besotted  by  a  belief  in  predestination,  and  therefore  ready  to 
abandon  themselves  brutally  to  every  tiling, —  to  precipitate  themselves 
headlong,  if  necessary,  into  the  trenches  of  a  besieged  city  to  serve  as  a 
bridge  for  the  rest  of  the  army.  Many  will  say,  I  am  aware,  that  this 
doctrine  is  mistaken  and  misunderstood  by  the  Mahometans  ;  but,  How- 
ever this  may  be,  what  opinion  can  we  reasonably  entertain  of  a  tenet 
which  is  so  liable  to  be  misapprehended,  and  is  followed,  either  through 
mistake  or  otherwise,  by  such  strange  consequences  ?  " 

For  a  less  unfavorable  view  of  the  practical  tendency  of  a  belief  in 
necessity,  see  an  article  by  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review,  Vol.  XXVII.  p.  180.  — ED. 


THE    THEORY    AS    INFLUENCING    PRACTICE.  295 

The  scheme  of  free-will  is  not  liable  to  any  such  ob- 
jection, inasmuch  as  it  seems  quite  impossible  for  the  most 
ingeniou*  sophistry  to  pervert  it  to  any  pernicious  purpose. 
Indeed,  its  great  object  is  to  reconcile  with  the  conclu- 
sions of  our  reason  those  moral  feelings  which  are  so 
essential,  both  to  our  own  happiness  and  to  the  interests  of 
society,  that  they  have  been  regarded  by  some  of  the 
most  acute  as  well  as  candid  partisans  of  necessity  as 
merciful  illusions  of  the  imagination,  by  which  man  is 
blinded  to  the  melancholy  fact  of  his  real  condition  : 
"  Nervis  alienis  mobile  lignum  !  " 

There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  practical  con- 
sequences produced  by  the  scheme  of  necessity  at  the 
time  of  the  Reformation  alarmed  the  minds  of  some  very 
able  men  by  whom  it  was  at  first  adopted.  "  The  Ger- 
mans," says  Dr.  Burnet,  "  saw  the  ill  effects  of  the  doc- 
trine of  decrees.  Luther  changed  his  mind  about  it,  and 
Melancthon  wrote  openly  against  it ;  and  since  that  time 
the  whole  stream  of  the  Lutheran  churches  has  run  the 
other  way.  But  still  Calvin  and  Bucer  were  both  for 
maintaining  the  doctrine  ;  only  they  warned  the  people  not 
to  think  much  about  them,  since  they  were  secrets  that 
men  could  not  penetrate  into.  Hooper  and  many  other 
good  writers  did  often  exhort  the  people  from  entering 
into  these  curiosities  ;  and  a  caveat  to  the  same  purpose 
was  put  into  the  article  about  predestination."* 

"  Concerning  the  disputants  themselves,"  says  Dr. 
Jortin,  "we  may  safely  affirm,  that  the  defenders  of  the 
liberty  of  man,  and  of  the  conditional  decrees  of  God, 
have  been,  beyond  all  comparison,  the  more  learned,  judi- 
cious, and  moderate  men  ;  and  that  severity  and  oppression 
have  appeared  most  on  the  other  side."f 

Priestley  has  somewhere  very  justly  remarked,  that 
there  are  some  men  so  happily  born  that  no  speculative 
theories  are  likely  to  mislead  them  from  their  duty  ;  and 
of  the  truth  of  his  observation  I  sincerely  believe  that 
his  own  private  life  afforded  a  very  striking  example. 
Little  stress,  therefore,  is  to  be  laid  on  individual  cases 
as  arguments  for  or  against  the  practical  tendency  of  any 

*  Burnet  on  the  Reformation,  Part  II.  p.  113. 
t  Six  Dissertations,  Diss.  I.  p.  4. 


296  FREE  AGENCY. 

philosophical  dogma.  The  case,  however,  is  very  dif- 
ferent with  respect  to  observations  made  on  so  great  a 
scale  as  those  above  quoted  from  Bernier  and  Burnet. 
Let  me  add,  that  the  practical  influence  of  the  scheme  of 
necessity  ought  not  to  be  judged  of  from  the  lives  of  its 
speculative  partisans,  but  from  those  of  persons  who  have 
been  educated  from  their  early  years  in  the  belief  of  it. 
In  this  point  of  view,  it  might  be  interesting  to  trace  the 
history  of  the  immediate  descendants  of  some  of  the  most 
zealous  advocates  for  necessity.  If  the  principles  which 
they  have  advanced  be  just,  particularly  those  they  have 
laid  down  on  the  influence  of  education,  the  moral  char- 
acters of  their  pupils  should,  or  rather  must,  be  exemplary 
in  no  common  degree. 

SECTION  V; 

ON    THE    ARGUMENT    FOR    NECESSITY    DRAWN    FROM   THE 
PRESCIENCE    OF    THE    DEITT. 

I.  The  Argument  stated  and  answered.]  In  reviewing 
the  arguments  that  have  been  advanced  on  the  opposite 
sides  of  this  question,  I  have  hitherto  taken  no  notice  of 
those  which  the  necessitarians  have  founded  on  the  pres- 
cience of  the  Deity,  because  I  do  not  think  them  fairly 
applicable  to  the  subject  ;  inasmuch  as  they  draw  an  in- 
ference from  what  is  altogether  placed  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  faculties,  against  a  fact  for  which  every  man  has 
the  eviderice  of  his  own  consciousness.  Some  of  the  ad- 
vocates, however,  for  liberty  have  ventured  to  meet  their 
adversaries  even  on  this  ground  ;  in  particular,  Dr.  Clarke, 
in  his  Demonstration  of  the  Being  and  Attributes  of  God, 
and  Dr.  Reid,  in  his  Essays  on  the  Active  Powers  of  Man. 
Both  of  these  writers  have  attempted  to  show,  with  much 
ingenuity  and  subtilty  of  reasoning,  that,  even  although  we 
should  admit  the  prescience  of  God  in  the  fullest  extent  in 
which  it  has  ever  been  ascribed  to  him,  it  does  not  lead  to 
any  conclusion  inconsistent  with  man's  free  agency.  On 
their  speculations  on  this  point  I  have  no  commentary  to 
offer. 

The  argument  for  necessity,   drawn  from  the  Divine 


PRESCIENCE    OF    THE    DEITY.  297 

prescience,  is  much  insisted  on  both  by  Collins  and  Ed- 
wards ;  more  especially  by  the  latter,  who,  after  insisting 
at  great  length  on  "God's  certain  foreknowledge  of  the 
volitions  of  moral  agents,"  undertakes  to  show  that  "  this 
foreknowledge  infers  a  necessity  of  volition  as  much  as  an 
absolute  decree." 

Mr.  Belsham,  on  this  as  on  other  occasions,  rises  above 
his  predecessors  in  the  boldness  of  his  assertions.  "  The 
principal  argument  in  favor  of  moral  necessity,  and  the  in- 
surmountable objection  against  the  existence  of  philosophi- 
cal liberty  in  any  degree,  or  under  any  restrictions  what- 
ever, arises  from  the  prescience  of  God.  Liberty  and 
prescience  stand  in  direct  hostility  to  each  other.  A  phi- 
losopher, to  be  consistent,  must  give  up  one  or  the  other." 
"  Upon  the  whole,  the  advocates  for  philosophical  liberty 
are  reduced  to  the  dilemma,  either  of  denying  the  fore- 
knowledge of  God,  and  thus  robbing  the  Deity  of  one  of 
his  most  glorious  attributes,  or  of  admitting  that  God  is 
the  author  of  evil,  in  the  same  sense,  and  in  the  same  de- 
grees, in  which  this  doctrine  is  charged  upon  the  necessa- 
rians." * 

On  this  argument  I  shall  make  but  one  remark,  that, 
if  it  be  conclusive,  it  only  serves  to  identify  still  more  the 
creed  of  the  necessitarians  with  that  of  Spinoza.  For  if 
God  certainly  foresees  all  the  future  volitions  of  his  crea- 
tures, he  must,  for  the  same  reason,  foresee  all  his  own 
future  volitions  ;  and  if  this  foreknowledge  infers  a  neces- 
sity of  volition  in  the  one  case,  how  is  it  possible  to  avoid 
the  same  inference  in  the  other  ?  Mr.  Belsham  seems  to 
have  been  not  unaware  of  this  inference  ;  but  shows  no 
disposition,  on  account  of  it,  to  shrink  from  his  principles. 
"  It  is  always  to  be  remembered  that  the  prescience  of  an 
agent  necessarily  includes  predestination,  though  that  of  a 
spectator  may  not.  It  is  nonsense  to  say  that  a  being 
does  not  mean  to  bring  an  event  to  pass  which  he  foresees 
to  be  the  certain  and  inevitable  consequence  of  his  own 
previous  voluntary  action."! 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  attempt  of  Clarke  and 
others  to  show  that  no  valid  argument  against  the  scheme 

•  Elements,  pp.  293,  302.  t  Elements,  p.  307. 


298  FREE    AGENCY. 

of  free-will  can  be  deduced  from  the  prescience  of  God, 
even  supposing  that  prescience  to  extend  to  all  the  actions 
of  voluntary  beings.  On  this  point  I  must  decline  offer- 
ing any  opinion  of  my  own,  because  I  conceive  it  as 
placed  far  beyond  the  reach  of  our  faculties.  It  is  suf- 
ficient for  my  purpose  to  observe,  that,  if  it  could  be 
demonstrated  (which,  in  my  opinion,  has  not  yet  been 
done)  that  the  prescience  of  the  volitions  of  moral  agents 
is  incompatible  with  the  free  agency  of  man,  the  logical  in- 
ference would  be,  not  in  favor  of  the  scheme  of  necessity, 
but  that  there  are  some  events  the  foreknowledge  of 
which  implies  an  impossibility.  Shall  we  venture  to 
affirm  that  it  exceeds  the  power  of  God  to  permit  such  a 
train  of  contingent  events  to  take  place,  as  his  own  fore- 
knowledge shall  not  extend  to  ?  Does  not  such  a  propo- 
sition detract  from  the  omnipotence  of  God,  in  the  same 
proportion  in  which  it  aims  to  exalt  his  omniscience  ?  * 

*  The  strength  of  Edwards's  argument  to  prove  that  "no  future  event 
can  be  certainly  foreknown,  whose  existence  is  contingent,  and  with- 
out all  necessity,"  may  be  summed  up  in  the  following  syllogism  :  — 

It  is  impossible  for  a  thing  to  be  certainly  known  to  any  intellect 
without  evidence. 

A  contingent  future  event  is  without  evidence. 

Therefore,  a  contingent  future  event  is  a  thing  impossible  to  be  cer- 
tainly known. 

Mr.  Tappan  says:  —  "I  dispute  both  premises.  That  which  is 
known  by  evidence  or  proof  is  mediate  knowledge  ;  —  that  is,  we  know 
it  througn  something  which  is  immediate,  standing  between  the  faculty 
of  knowledge  and  the  object  of  knowledge  in  question.  That  which  is 
known  intuitively  is  known  irit/nmt  proof;  and  this  is  immediate  knowl- 
edge. In  this  way  all  axioms  or  first  truths,  and  all  facts  of  the  senses, 
are  known.  Indeed,  evidence  itself  implies  immediate  knowledge,  for 
the  evidence  by  which  any  thing  is  known  is  itself  immediate  knowl- 
edge. To  a  Being,  therefore,  whose  knowledge  fills  duration,  future 
and  past  events  may  be  as  immediately  known  as  present  events.  In- 
deed, can  we  conceive  of  God  otherwise  than  as  immediately  knowing 
all  things?  An  Infinite  and  Eternal  Intelligence  cannot  be  thought  of 
under  relations  of  time  and  space,  or  as  arriving  at  knowledge  through 
media  of  proof  or  demonstration.  So  much  for  the  first  premise.  The 
second  is  equally  untenable:  — '  A  contingent  future  event  is  without 
evidence.'  We  grant  with  Edwards  that  it  is  not  self-evident,  imply- 
ing by  that  the  evidence  arising  from  '  the  necessity  of  its  nature,'  as,  for 
example,  2X2  =  4.  What  is  self-evident  [from  being  immediately 
perceived]  does  not  require  any  [other]  evidence  or  proof,  but  is  known 
immediately;  and  a  future  contingent  event  may  be  self-evident  [in  this 
sense]  as  a  fact  lying  before  the  Divine  mind  reaching  into  futurity, 
although  it  cannot  be  self-evident  from  '  the  necessity  of  its  nature.'  " — 
Review  of  Edwards,  p.  256. 

The  following  remarks  on  the  same  subject  are  from  Dr.  Copleston's 


PRESCIENCE    OF    THE    DEITY.  299 

II.  Source  of  the  General  Prevalence  of  Fatalism  among 
Unenlightened  Nations.]  It  is  a  circumstance  not  a  little 
curious  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind,  that,  while  men 
have  been  in  all  ages  impressed  with  this  irresistible  con- 
viction of  their  own  free  agency,  they  have  nevertheless 
had  a  proneness,  not  only  to  admit  the  prescience  of  God 
in  its  fullest  extent,  but  to  suppose  that  there  is  a  fatal  and 
irresistible  destiny  attending  every  individual.  Traces  of 
this  opinion  occur  in  every  country  of  the  world  of  which 
we  have  received  any  account.  We  meet  with  it  among 
the  sages  of  Greece,  and  among  the  ignorant  and  unen- 
lightened natives  of  St.  Kilda.  The  following  Arabian 
tale,  which  I  quote  from  the  late  Mr.  Harris,  will  place 
the  import  of  the  doctrine  I  now  allude  to  in  a  more  strik- 
ing light  than  I  could  possibly  do  by  any  philosophical 
comment. 

u  The  Arabians  tell  us,"  says  this  author,  "that  as 
Solomon  (whom  they  supposed  a  magician  from  his  supe- 
rior wisdom)  was  one  day  walking  with  a  person  in  Pal- 
estine, his  companion  said  to  him  with  horror,  '  What 

Inquiry  into  the  Doctrines  of  Necessity  and  Predestination,  p.  45,  note. 
"  Edwards,  in  his  work  on  the  Freedom  of  the  Will,  dwells  much  upon 
the  distinction  between  making  the  event  necessary,  and  proving  it  to 
be  necessary.  '  Whether  prescience,'  he  says,  'be  the  thing  that  makes 
the  event  necessary  or  no.  it  alters  not  the  case.  Infallible  foreknowl- 
edge may  prove  the  necessity  of  the  event  foreknown,  and  yet  not  be 
the  thing  that  causes  the  necessity.'  Part  II.  Sect.  xii.  But  infallible 
foreknowledge,  while  it  remains  foreknowledge,  proves  nothing.  When 
the  being  which  possesses  this  foreknowledge  declares  that  a  thing  will 
come  to  pass,  that  declaration  indeed  proves,  or  is  a  certain  ground  of 
assurance  to  us,  that  it  will  corne  to  pass.  Even  then  it  does  not  prove 
the  event  to  be  necessary. 

"  If,  however,  the  question  be  regarded  as  merely  logical,  namely, 
whether  the  very  term  foreknowledge  does  not  imply  a  necessity  in  the 
thing  foreknown,  it  must  be  decided  by  the  established  use  of  words. 
That  such  is  not  the  received  definition  of  the  term  may,  I  believe,  be 
with  confidence  asserted  ;  and  the  confusion,  whenever  it  does  prevail, 
seems  to  arise  from  the  following  cause.  We  may  be  unable  to  conceive 
how  a  thing  not  necessary  in  its  nature  can  be  foreknown  ;  for  our  fore- 
knowledge is  in  general  limited  by  that  circumstance,  and  is  more  or 
less  perfect  in  proportion  to  the  fixed  or  necessary  nature  of  the  things 
we  contemplate,  with  which  nature  we  become  acquainted  by  experi- 
ence, and  are  thus  able  to  anticipate  a  great  variety  of  events;  but  to 
subject  the  knowledge  of  God  to  any  such  limitation  is  surely  absurd 
and  unphilosophical,  as  well  as  impious  ;  and,  therefore,  to  mix  up  the 
idea  of  God's  foreknowledge  with  any  quality  in  the  nature  of  the 
things  foreknown  is  even  less  excusable  than  to  be  guilty  of  that  con- 
fusion when  speaking  of  ourselves."  —  ED. 


300  FREE  AGENCY. 

hideous  spectre  is  that  which  approaches  us  ?  I  don't  like 
his  visage.  Send  me,  I  pray  thee,  to  the  remotest  moun- 
tain of  India.'  Solomon  complied,  and  the  very  moment 
he  was  sent  off  the  spectre  arrived.  '  Solomon,'  said  the 
spectre,  '  how  came  that  fellow  here  ?  I  was  to  have 
fetched  him  from  the  remotest  mountain  of  India.'  Sol- 
omon answered,  '  Angel  of  Death,  thou  wilt  find  him 
Mere."'* 

The  general  prevalence.  of  fatalism  among  unenlightened 
nations  is  the  obvious  effect  of  the  insidious  lessons  incul- 
cated by  their  religious  instructors.  The  chief  expedient 
employed  by  the  priesthood  in  all  rude  countries  for  sub- 
jecting the  minds  of  the  people  is  to  impress  them  with 
a  belief  that  it  is  possible,  by  the  study  of  auguries,  of 
omens,  or  of  judicial  astrology,  to  gratify  that  misguided 
curiosity  which  disposes  blind  mortals  anxiously  to  tear 
asunder  the  merciful  veil  drawn  by  Providence  over  futu- 
rity. "  Wherever  superstition,"  says  Dr.  Robertson, 
"  is  so  established  as  to  form  a  regular  system,  this  desire 
of  penetrating  into  the  secrets  of  futurity  is  connected 
with  it.  Divination  becomes  a  religious  act  ;  and  priests, 
as  the  ministers  of  Heaven,  pretend  to  deliver  its  oracles 
to  man.  They  are  the  only  soothsayers,  augurs,  and  ma- 
gicians who  possess  the  sacred  and  important  art  of  dis- 
closing what  is  hid  from  other  eyes."f 


, 

III.  JVo  Dogma  sufficient  to  efface  the  Consciousness 
of  Moral  Liberty.]     Between  this  creed  and  that  of  an 

*  Philosophical  Inquiries,  Part  III.  Chap.  vii.  The  following  re- 
mark of  M.  Ancillon  upon  the  difference  between  the  Mahometan 
doctrine  of  destiny,  and  that  which  prevailed  upon  the  same  subject 
among  the  ancient  Greeks,  appears  to  me  just  and  important.  "  II  y  a 
une  grande  difference  entre  le  deslin  des  Orientaux,  surtout  depuis  que 
Mahomet  a  fait,  d'une  doctrine  gencralement  repandue  avant  lui,  un 
article  de  foi,  et  le  Polytheisme  Grec.  Le  Grec  tutte  contre  le  destin, 
et  lout  en  succombant  sous  sa  force,  il  fait  preuve  de  Iibert6  :  le  Ma- 
hometan se  resigne  en  aveugle  avant  l°6venement  ;  lors  m6me  qu'il 
agit,  il  agit  en  homme  a  qui  faction  ne  servira  de  rien.  Le  premier 
murmure  contre  ce  pouvoir,  et  le  supports  avec  impatience  ;  le  second 
e'en  felicite  parce  qu'il  dispense  de  I  nctivitc.  Les  Grecs  pla<joient  la 
force  aveugle  dans  fe  destin  ;  et  la  pensee  qui  lui  resiste,  et  qui  le  com- 
bat, dans  f  homine  ;  chez  lea  Mahometans  la  force  aveugle  est  dans 
1'borame  ;  cette  force  n'est  qu'une  force  passive,  et  la  pensee  est  dans  le 
destin."  —  Essau  Philosophiaues^  Tome  I.  pp.  150,  151. 

t  History  of  America,  Book  IV. 


PRESCIENCE    OF    THE    DEITY.  301 

inevitable  fate  or  destiny  the  connection  is  necessary  and 
obvious  ;  and  hence  in  every  false  religion  the  scheme  of 
fatalism  may  be  expected  to  form,  not  only  an  essential, 
but  the  fundamental  article.  The  inconsiderable  influence 
which  this  theological  dogma  (a  dogma,  too,  peculiarly 
calculated  to  affect  and  even  to  overwhelm  the  imagina- 
tion) has  always  had  in  stifling  the  sentiment  of  remorse 
on  the  commission  of  a  crime,  affords  a  demonstrative 
proof  of  the  impotence  of  such  scholastic  refinements,  when 
opposed  to  the  feelings  of  nature,  on  a  question  concern- 
ing which  these  feelings  form  the  only  tribunal  to  which  a 
legitimate  appeal  can  be  made.  That  a  criminal,  in  order 
to  alleviate  the  pang  of  remorse,  may  have  sometimes 
sought  for  relief  in  this  doctrine,  is  far  from  being  improba- 
ble ;  but  no  man  ever  acted  on  this  belief  in  the  common 
concerns  of  human  life  ;  and,  indeed,  some  of  its  most 
zealous  partisans  have  acknowledged,  (particularly  Lord 
Kames,)  that,  were  it  to  prevail  universally  as  a  practical 
principle,  the  business  of  the  world  could  not  possibly  go  on. 
In  the  ancient  Stoical  system,  (as  I  have  already  ob- 
served,) the  doctrine  of  fatalism  and  that  of  man's  free 
agency  were  both  admitted  as  fundamental  articles  of  be- 
lief. "  By  fate,"  says  Mrs.  Carter,  "  the  Stoics  seem  to 
have  understood  a  series  of  events  appointed  by  the  im- 
mutable councils  of  God,  or  that  law  of  his  providence  by 
which  he  governs  the  world.  It  is  evident  by  their  writ- 
ings that  they  meant  it  in  no  sense  which  interferes  with 
the  liberty  of  human  actions."  Of  the  truth  of  this  re- 
mark the  most  satisfactory  evidence  is  afforded  by  the 
very  first  sentence  of  the  Enchiridion  of  Epictetus,  in 
which  it  is  explicitly  stated,  that  "  opinion,  pursuit,  de- 
sire, and  aversion,  and,  in  one  word,  whatever  are  our  own 
actions,  are  in  our  own  power."  * 

*  That  the  doctrine  of  fatalism,  however,  led  some  of  the  Stoics  to 
very  impious  and  alarming  consequences,  appears  from  the  following 
words,  which  Lucan  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Cato. 

"Summum  Brute  nefas  civilia  hella  falemur, 
Sed  quo  fata  trahunt,  virtus  secura  sequetur. 
Crimen  erit  superis  et  me  fecisse  nocentem." 

Phar.  II.  254. 

See,  also,  Lib.  VII.  657.  —  Copleston,  Pralect.  dead.,  p.  277. 

26 


302  FREE    AGENCY. 

Such,  too,  is  the  philosophy  of  Virgil :  — 

"  Stat  sua  cuique  dies,  breve  et  irreparabile  tempus 
Omnibus  est  vitoe  ;  sed  fainain  extendere  fuctia 
Hoc  virtutis  opus."  * 

The  doctrine,  however,  of  fatalism,  and  of  an  inevitable 
destiny,  must  not  be  confounded  with  that  of  the  Divine 
prescience,  between  which  and  the  freedom  of  human  ac- 
tions some  of  our  profoundest  philosophers,  as  I  have 
already  observed,  (particularly  Clarke  and  Reid,)  have 
labored  to  show  that  there  is  no  inconsistency,  while  other 
writers  of  no  less  eminence  have  apprehended  that  there 
is  no  absurdity  in  supposing  that  the  Deity  may,  for  wise 
purposes,  have  chosen  to  open  a  source  of  contingency  in 
the  voluntary  actions  of  his  creatures,  to  which  no  pres- 
cience can  possibly  extend. 

Whatever  opinion  we  may  adopt  on  this  point,  the  con- 
clusions formerly  stated  concerning  man's  free  agency  re- 
main unshaken.  Our  own  free-will  we  know  by  our  con- 
sciousness ;  and  we  can  have  no  evidence  for  any  other 
truth  so  irresistible  as  this.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would 
unquestionably  be  rash  and  impious  in  us,  from  the  fact  of 
our  own  free-will,  to  deny  that  our  actions  may  be  fore- 
seen by  the  Deity,  or  to  measure  the  Divine  attributes  by 
a  standard  borrowed  from  our  imperfect  faculties.  The 
conclusion  of  St.  Augustine  on  this  subject  is  equally 
pious  and  philosophical.  "  Wherefore  we  are  nowise  re- 
duced to  the  necessity,  either  by  admitting  the  prescience 
of  God,  to  deny  the  freedom  of  the  human  will,  or  by 
admitting  the  freedom  of  the  will  to  hazard  the  impious 
assertion,  that  the  prescience  of  God  does  not  extend  to 
all  future  contingencies  :  but,  on  the  contrary,  we  are  dis- 

•  JEneid,  Lib.  X.  467. 

"  To  all  that  breathe  is  fixed  the  appointed  date ; 
Life  is  but  short,  and  circumscribed  by  fate : 
'T  is  virtue's  work  by  fame  to  stretch  the  span, 
Whose  scanty  limit  bounds  the  days  of  man." 

The  notions  of  Virgil,  however,  on  this  point,  as  is  well  observed 
by  Servius,  do  not  seem  to  have  been  quite  consistent.  How  are  the 
following  lines,  which  he  applies  to  Dido,  to  be  reconciled  with  the 
above  passage  ? 

"Nam  qui.i  nee  fa  to,  merita  nee  morte  peribat; 
Sed  misera  ante  diem."  —  Idem,  Lib.  IV.  695. 


PRESCIENCE    OF    THE    DEITY.  303 

posed  to  embrace  both  doctrines,  and  with  sincerity  to 
bear  testimony  to  their  truth,  —  the  one  that  our  faith 
may  be  sound,  the  other  that  our  lives  may  be  good."* 

*  The  following  passage  in  one  of  Gray's  letters  has  a  sufficient  con- 
nection with  what  is  said  above  to  justify  me  in  giving  it  a  place  here. 
Indeed,  were  the  connection  much  slighter  and  less  obvious  than  it 
is,  little  apology  would  be  necessary  for  relieving  the  attention  of  the 
reader  by  quoting  any  thing  relating  to  so  important  a  subject  from  such 
a  pen. 

"  I  am  as  sorry  as  you  seem  to  be,  that  our  acquaintance  harped  so 
much  on  the  subject  of  materialism  when  I  saw  him  with  you  in  town, 
because  it  was  plain  to  which  side  of  the  long-debated  question  he  in- 
clined. That  we  are,  indeed,  mechanical  and  dependent  beings,  I  need 
no  other  proof  than  my  own  feelings;  and  from  the  same  feelings  I 
learn  with  equal  conviction,  that  we  are  not  merely  such.  That  there 
is  a  power  within  which  struggles  against  the  force  and  bias  of  that 
mechanism,  commands  its  motion,  and  by  frequent  practice  reduces  it 
to  that  ready  obedience  we  call  habit;  and  all  this  in  conformity  to  a 
preconceived  opinion  (no  matter  whether  right  or  wrong), —  to  that  least 
material  of  all  agents,  a  thought.  I  have  known  many  in  his  case, 
who,  while  they  thought  they  were  conquering  an  old  prejudice,  did 
not  perceive  that  they  were  under  the  influence  of  one  far  more  danger- 
ous,—  one  that  furnishes  us  with  a  ready  apology  for  all  our  worst  actions, 
and  opens  to  us  a  full  license  for  doing  whatever  we  please;  a'nd  yet 
these  very  people  were  not  at  all  the' more  indulgent  to  other  men  (as 
they  naturally  should  have  been)  ;  their  indignation  at  such  as  offended 
them,  their  desire  of  revenge  on  any  body  that  hurt  them,  was  nothing 
mitigated.  In  short,  they  wished  to  be  persuaded  of  that  opinion  for 
the  sake  of  its  convenience,  but  were  not  so  in  their  hearts ;  and  they 
would  have  been  glad  (as  they  ought  in  common  prudence)  that  nobody 
else  should  think  the  same,  for  fear  of  the  mischief  that  might  ensue  to 
themselves.  His  French  author  I  never  saw,  but  have  read  fifty  in  the 
same  strain,  and  shall  read  no  more.  /  can  be  wretched  enough  without 
them."  —  IVorks,  by  Mason,  Letter  XXXI. 

1  shall  avail  myself  of  this  note  to  remark,  that,  on  the  subject  of 
free-will,  though  Locke  has  thrown  out  many  important  observations, 
he  is  on  the  whole  more  indistinct,  undecided,  and  inconsistent,  than 
might  have  been  expected  from  his  powerful  mind,  when  directed  to 
so  important  a  question.  This  was  probably  owing  to  his  own  strong 
feelings  in  favor  of  man's  moral  liberty,  combined  with  the  deep  im- 
pression left  on  his  philosophical  creed  by  the  writings  of  Hobbes,  and 
.by  the  habits  of  intimacy  and  friendship  in  which  he  lived  with  the 
acutest  and  ablest  of  all  necessitarians,  Anthony  Collins.  That  Locke 
conceived  himself  to  be  an  advocate  for  free-will  appears  indisputably 
from  many  expressions  in  his  chapter  On  Power  ;  and  yet  in  that  very 
chapter  he  has  made  various  concessions  to  his  adversaries,  in  which 
he  seems  to  yield  all  that  was  contended  for  by  Hobbes  and  Collins  ; 
and  accordingly,  he  is  ranked,  with  some  appearance  of  truth,  by 
Priestley,  with  those  who,  while  they  opposed  verbally  the  scheme  of 
necessity,  have  adopted  it  substantially,  without  being  aware  of  their 
mistake. 

[To  the  multitude  of  works  cited  or  referred  to  in  this  chapter  may 
be  added  the  following:  —  Crombie's  Essay  on  Philosophical  Necessity  ; 
Bray's  Philosojihy  of  Necessity ;  Cogan's  Ethical  Questions,  Question 


BOOK  III. 

OF  THE  VARIOUS  BRANCHES  OF  OUR  DUTY. 

THE  different  theories  which  have  been  proposed  con- 
cerning the  nature  and  essence  of  virtue  have  arisen 
chiefly  from  attempts  to  trace  all  the  branches  of  our  duty 
to  one  principle  of  action,  such  as  a  rational  self-love,  be- 
nevolence, justice,  or  a  disposition  to  obey  the  will  of  God. 

In  order  to  avoid  those  partial  views  of  the  subject 
which  naturally  take  their  rise  from  an  undue  love  of  sys- 
tem, the  following  inquiries  proceed  on  an  arrangement 
which  has,  in  all  ages,  recommended  itself  to  the  good 
sense  of  mankind.  This  arrangement  is  founded  on  the 
different  objects  to  which  our  duties  relate.  1st.  The 
Deity.  2d.  Our  Fellow-Creatures.  And,  3d.  Ourselves. 


CHAPTER    I. 

OF  THE  DUTIES  WHICH  RESPECT  THE  DEITY. 

I.  The  Duty  of  Religious  Consideration.']  It  is 
scarcely  possible  to  conceive  a  man  capable  of  reflection, 
who  has  not,  at  times,  proposed  to  himself  the  following 

IV. ;  Sir  T.  C.  Morgan's  Sketches  of  the  Philosophy  of  Morals,  Chap.  II. ; 
Bailey's  Essays  on  the  Pursuit  of  Truth,  8,-c.,  Essay  III. ;  Gregory's  Es- 
say in  Offence  of  Philosophical  Liberty  ;  Bockshammer  On  the  Freedom 
of  the  Human  Will ;  Charma,  Essai  sur  les  Bases  et  les  Developpemens 
de  la  Moralite,  Part.  I.  Sect,  i  ,  ii. ;  Damiron,  Psychologic,  Liv.  I.  Sect, 
ii.  Chap,  iii.;  Ballantyne's  Examination  of  the  Human  Mind,  Chap.  III. ; 
Gibon,  Cours  de  Philosophir,  Part.  I.  Chap.  xiii. ;  Blakey's  Essay  show- 
ing the  Intimate  Connection  between  our  Notions  of  Moral  Good  and  Evil 
and  our  Conceptions  of  the  Freedom  of  the  Divine  and  Human  ll'ill.i : 
Harvey's  Examination  of  the  Pelagian  and  Arminian  Theory  of  Moral 
Agency  ;  Day's  Inquiry  respecting  the  Self-determining  Power  of  the  II  ill ; 
Day's  Examination  of  President  Edwards's  Inquiry  on  the  Freedom  of 
the  Will.} 


DUTIES    TO    GOD.  305 

questions  :  —  Whence  am  I  ?  and  whence  the  innumerable 
tribes  of  plants  and  of  animals  which  I  see,  in  constant  suc- 
cession, rising  into  existence  ?  Whence  the  beautiful  fabric 
of  this  universe  ?  and  by  what  wise  and  powerful  Being  were 
the  principles  of  my  constitution  so  wonderfully  adapted 
to  the  various  objects  around  me  ?  To  whom  am  1  in- 
debted for  the  distinguished  rank  which  I  hold  in  the  crea- 
tion, and  for  the  numberless  blessings  which  have  fallen  to 
my  lot  ?  And  what  return  shall  I  make  for  this  profusion 
of  goodness  ?  The  only  return  I  can  make  is  by  accom- 
modating my  conduct  to  the  will  of  my  Creator,  and  by 
fulfilling,  as  far  as  I  am  able,  the  purposes  of  my  being. 

But  how  are  these  purposes  to  be  discovered  ?  The 
analogy  of  the  lower  animals  gives  me  here  no  informa- 
tion. They,  too,  as  well  as  1,  are  endowed  with  various 
instincts  and  appetites  ;  but  their  nature,  on  the  whole, 
exhibits  a  striking  contrast  to  mine.  They  are  impelled 
by  a  blind  determination  towards  their  proper  objects,  and 
seern  to  obey  the  law  of  their  nature  in  yielding  to  every 
principle  which  excites  them  to  action.  In  my  own  spe- 
cies alone  the  case  is  different.  Every  individual  chooses 
for  himself  the  ends  of  his  pursuit,  and  chooses  the  means 
which  he  is  to  employ  for  attaining  them.  Are  all  these 
elections  equally  good  ?  and  is  there  no  law  prescribed  to 
man  ?  I  feel  the  reverse.  I  am  able  to  distinguish  what 
is  right  from  what  is  wrong  ;  what  is  honorable  and  be- 
coming from  what  is  unworthy  and  base  ;  what  is  lauda- 
ble and  meritorious  from  what  is  shameful  and  criminal. 
Here,  then,  are  plain  indications  of  the  conduct  I  ought 
to  pursue.  There  is  a  law  prescribed  to  man  as  well  as 
to  the  brutes.  The  only  difference  is,  that  it  depends  on 
my  own  will  whether  I  obey  or  disobey  it.  And  shall  I 
alone  counteract  the  intentions  of  my  Maker,  by  abusing 
that  freedom  of  choice  which  he  has  been  pleased  to  be- 
stow on  me,  by  raising  me  to  the  rank  of  a  rational  and 
moral  being  ? 

This  is  surely  the  language  of  nature  ;  and  which  could 
not  fail  to  occur  to  every  man  capable  of  serious  thought, 
were  not  the  understanding  and  the  moral  feelings  in  some 
instances  miserably  perverted  by  religious  and  political 
prejudices,  and  in  others  by  the  false  refinements  of  meta- 
26* 


306  DUTIES  TO    GOD. 

physical  theories.  How  callous  must  be  that  heart  which 
does  not  echo  back  the  reflections  which  Mihon  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  our  first  parent  ! 

"Thou  sun,  said  I,  fair  liglit, 
And  thou,  enlightened  earth,  so  fresh  and  gny, 
Ye  hills  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods,  and  plains, 
And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures,  tell, 
Tell,  if  you  saw,  lm\v  came  I  thus,  how  here  ; 
Not  of  myself;  by  some  great  maker  then, 
In  goodness,  as  in  power,  preeminent; 
Telf  me  how  I  may  know  him,  how  adore, 
From  whom  I  have,  that  thus  I  move  and  live, 
And  feel  that  I  am  happier  than  I  know." 

II.  The  Duty  of  Piety.]  If  the  Deity  be  possessed 
of  infinite  moral  excellence,  we  must  feel  towards  him, 
in  an  infinite  degree,  all  those  affections  of  love,  gratitude, 
and  confidence,  which  are  excited  by  the  imperfect  worth 
we  observe  among  our  fellow-creatures.  Now  it  is  only  by 
conceiving  all  that  is  benevolent  and  amiable  in  man  raised 
to  the  highest  perfection  that  we  can  form  some  faint 
notion  of  the  Divine  nature.  To  cultivate,  therefore,  an 
habitual  love  and  reverence  of  the  Supreme  Being  may 
be  justly  considered  as  the  first  great  branch  of  morality  ; 
nor  is  the  virtue  of  that  man  complete,  or  even  consistent 
with  itself,  in  whose  mind  those  sentiments  of  piety  are 
wanting. 

Piety  seems  to  be  considered  by  Mr.  Smith  as  founded 
in  some  degree  on  those  principles  of  our  nature  which 
connect  us  with  our  fellow-creatures.  The  dejection  of 
mind  which  accompanies  a  state  of  complete  solitude  ; 
the  disposition  we  have  to  impart  to  others  our  thoughts 
and  feelings  ;  the  desire  we  have  of  other  intelligent  and 
moral  natures  to  sympathize  with  our  own,  — all  lead  us, 
in  the  progress  of  reason  and  of  moral  perception,  to 
establish  gradually  a  mental  intercourse  with  the  Invisible 
Witness  and  Judge  of  our  conduct.  An  habitual  sense 
of  the  Divine  presence  comes  at  last  to  be  formed.  In 
every  object  or  event  that  we  see,  we  trace  the  hand  of 
the  Almighty,  and  in  the  suggestions  of  reason  and  con- 
science, we  listen  to  his  inspirations.  In  this  intercourse 
of  the  heart  with  God,  (an  intercourse  which  enlivens  and 
gladdens  the  most  desolate  scenes,  and  which  dignifies  the 


DUTIES    TO    GOD.  307 

duties  of  the  meanest  station,)  the  supreme  felicity  of  our 
nature  is  to  be  found  ;  and  till  it  is  firmly  established, 
there  remains  a  void  in  every  breast  which  nothing  earthly 
can  supply  ;  —  a  consideration  which  proves  that  religion 
has  a  foundation  in  the  original  principles  of  our  constitu- 
tion, while  it  affords  us  a  presage  of  that  immortal  happi- 
ness which  Providence  has  destined  to  be  the  reward  of 
virtue.*  \v 

III.  Religion  necessary  as  a  Support  to  Public  and 
Private  Virtue.']  Although  religion  can  with  no  pro- 
priety be  considered  as  the  sole  foundation  of  morality, 
yet,  when  we  are  convinced  that  God  is  infinitely  good, 
and  that  he  is  the  friend  and  protector  of  virtue,  this  be- 
lief affords  the  most  powerful  inducements  to  the  practice 
of  every  branch  of  our  duly.  It  leads  us  to  consider  con- 
science as  the  vicegerent  of  God,  and  to  attend  to  its  sug- 
gestions as  to  the  commands  of  that  Being  from  whom  we 
have  received  our  existence,  and  the  great  object  of  whose 
government  is  to  promote  the  happiness  and  the  perfec- 
tion of  his  whole  creation. 

These  considerations  not  only  are  addressed  to  our 
gratitude,  but  awaken  in  the  mind  a  sentiment  of  universal 
benevolence,  and  make  us  feel  a  relation  to  every  part  of 
the  universe.  In  doing  our  duty,  we  conceive  ourselves 
as  fellow-workers  with  the  Deity,  and  as  willing  instru- 
ments in  his  hands  for  promoting  the  benevolent  purposes 
of  his  administration.  This  is  that  sublime  sentiment  of 
piety  and  benevolence  which  we  meet  with  so  often  in  the 
writings  of  the  ancient  Stoics.  u  Shall  any  one  say," 
observes  Antoninus,  "  '  O  beloved  city  of  Cecrops  !  ' 
and  wilt  not  thou  say,  '  O  beloved  city  of  God  '  ?  " 

In  this  manner  it  appears  that  a  sense  of  religion  is  fa- 
vorable to  the  practice  of  virtue  in  two  respects  ;  first., 
by  leading  us  to  consider  every  act  of  duty  as  an  expres- 
sion of  gratitude  to  God  ;  and,  secondly,  as  leading  us  to 
regard  ourselves  as  parts  of  that  universal  system  of  which 
he  is  the  Author  and  Governor.  There  is  another  re- 

*  For  a  further  consideration  of  this  important  subject,  see  Butler's  two 
Sermons  Upon  Piety,  or  the  Love,  of  God.  Also,  his  Analogy,  Part.  II. 
chap.  i.  —  ED. 


308  DUTIES    TO    GOD. 

• 

spect  in  which  it  is  calculated  to  influence  our  conduct 
very  powerfully,  as  it  is  addressed  to  our  hopes  and  fears. 
In  this  view  religion  is  a  species  of  authoritative  /e/«>,  en- 
forced by  the  most  awful  sanctions,  and  of  which  it  is  im- 
possible for  us,  by  any  art,  to  elude  the  penalties.  In  the 
case  of  the  lower  orders  of  men,  who  are  incapable  of 
abstract  speculation,  and  whose  moral  feelings  cannot  be 
supposed  to  have  received  much  cultivation,  it  is  chiefly 
this  view  of  religion,  as  addressed  to  their  hopes  and /car*, 
that  secures  a  faithful  discharge  of  their  duties  as  members 
of  society.  In  vain  would  the  civil  magistrate  attempt  to 
preserve  the  order  of  society  by  annexing  the  penalty  of 
death  to  heinous  offences,  if  men  in  general  apprehend- 
ed that  there  was  nothing  to  be  feared  beyond  the  grave. 
And  it  is  of  importance  to  remark,  that  this  observation 
applies  with  peculiar  force  to  the  lower  orders,  who  have 
commonly  much  less  attachment  to  life  than  their  superi- 
ors. Of  this  truth,  all  wise  legislators,  both  ancient  and 
modern,  have  been  aware,  and  have  seen  the  necessity  of 
maintaining  a  sense  of  religion  among  their  fellow-citizens, 
as  the  most  powerful  of  all  supports  to  the  political  order. 
"  Ut  aliqua  in  vita  formido  improbis  esset  posita,  apud 
inferos  ejusmodi  qusdam  illi  antiqui  supplicia  impiis  con- 
stituta  esse  voluerunt ;  quod  videlicet  intelligebant  his  re- 
motis,  non  esse  mortem  ipsam  pertimescendam."  *  They, 
on  the  other  hand,  who  have  labored  to  loosen  the  bands 
of  society,  have  found  it  necessary  to  begin  with  pervert- 
ing or  destroying  the  natural  sentiments  of  the  mind  with 
respect  to  a  future  retribution.  In  ages  when  the  relig- 
ious principles  of  the  multitude  were  too  firmly  riveted  to 
be  entirely  eradicated,  they  have  inculcated  theological 

*  Cic.  Catil.  IV.     "For  it  was  on  this  account  that  the  ancients  in 
vented  those  infernal  punishments  of  the  dead,  to  keep  the  wicked 
under  some  awe  in  this  life,  who,  without  them,  would  have  no  dread  of 
death  itself." 

With  these  views  it  is  not  surprising  that  some  of  the  wisest  oT  the 
heathen  writers  should  have  expressed  themselves  so  very  strongly  con- 
cerning the  guilt  incurred  by  those  who,  by  exposing  to  ridicule  the 
fabulous  mythology  which  formed  the  popular  creed  among  their  con- 
temporaries, endangered  the  authority  of  those  moral  principles  which 
were  identified  with  it  in  the  vulgar  belief.  There  is  good  reason  for 
thinking  that  the  secret  communicated  to  the  initiated  in  the  Eleusinian 
mysteries  was  the  unity  of  God  ;  a  truth  too  sublime  to  be  disclosed  at 


DUTIES    TO    GOD.  309 

dogmas  subversive  of  moral  distinctions,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  antinornian  teachers  during  our  own  civil  wars.  In  other 
and  more  recent  instances,  they  have  avowedly  attempted 
to  establish  a  system  of  atheism.  So  true  is  the  old  ob- 
servation, that  the  extremes  of  superstition  and  of  infideli- 
ty unite  in  their  tendency,  and  so  completely  verified  are 
now  the  apprehensions  which  were  expressed  eighty  years 
ago  by  Bishop  Butler,  that  the  spirit  of  irreligion  (which, 
in  his  time,  was  beginning  to  grow  fashionable  among  the 
higher  ranks)  might  produce  some  time  or  other  political 
disorders  similar  to  those  which  arose  from  religious  fa- 
naticism in  the  preceding  century.  "  Is  there  no  danger 
that  all  this  may  raise  somewhat  like  the  levelling  spirit 
upon  atheistical  principles,  which,  in  the  last  age,  prevailed 
upon  enthusiastic  ones,  —  not  to  speak  of  the  possibility 
that  different  sorts  of  people  may  unite  in  it  upon  these 
contrary  principles  ?  "  * 

A  prediction  by  a  later  writer  of  genius  and  discernment, 
and  one  well  acquainted  with  the  principles  and  manners 
of  the  world,  is  not  unworthy  of  attention  in  the  present 
times,  in  which  we  have  seen  it  very  remarkably  verified 
in  numberless  instances.  "  I  shall  say  nothing  at  present 
of  the  lower  ranks  of  mankind.  Though  they  have  not 
yet  got  into  the  fashion  of  laughing  at  religion,  and  treat- 
ing it  with  scorn  and  contempt,  and  I  believe  are  too  seri- 
ous a  set  of  creatures  ever  lo  come  into  it,  yet  we  are 
not  to  imagine  but  that  the  contempt  it  is  held  in  by  those 
whose  examples  they  are  too  apt  to  imitate  will  in  time 
utterly  shake  their  principles,  and  render  them,  if  not  as 
profane,  at  least  as  corrupt,  as  their  betters.  When  this 
event  happens,  and  we  begin  to  feel  the  effects  of  it  in 

once  to  the  uninformed  multitude,  as  it  struck  at  the  root  of  all  those 
fables  which  were  incorporated  with  their  habits  of  thinking  and  feel- 
ing on  the  most  important  subjects.  On  this  supposition  we  have  a 
satisfactory  explanation  of  a  noted  passage  in  Horace,  between  which 
and  the  preceding  lines  it  seems  not  easy  at  first  to  trace  any  connection. 

Est  et  fideli  tuta  silentio 
Merces.     Vetabo,  qui  Cereris  sacrum 
Vulgarit  arcanae,  sub  iisdem 

Sit  trabibus,  fragilemve  mecum 
Solvat  phuselum. 

Carm.  L.  III.  Ode  ii. 
*  Sermon  preached  before  the  House  of  Lords,  January  30,  1740. 


310  DUTIES    TO   GOD. 

our  dealings  with  them,  those  who  have  done  the  mischief 
will  find  the  necessity  at  last  of  turning  religious  in  their 
own  defence,  and  (for  want  of  a  better  principle)  to  set 
an  example  of  piety  and  good  morals  for  their  own  inter- 
est and  convenience."  * 

Nor  is  it  merely  in  restraining  men  from  grosser  outra- 
ges, that  a  sense  of  religion  operates  as  a  compulsory  law. 
Without  a  secret  impression,  (of  which  it  is  impossible 
that  the  human  mind  can  divest  itself,)  that  there  is  at  all 
times  an  invisible  witness  of  our  thoughts,  it  is  probable 
that  the  virtue  of  the  best  men  would  often  yield  to  tempta- 
tion. Even  amidst  the  darkness  of  the  heathen  world, 
Xenophon  had  recourse  to  this  impression  to  account 
for  the  inflexible  integrity  of  Socrates,  when  he  sat  as  one 
of  the  judges  in  the  celebrated  trial  of  the  naval  command- 
ers. "Having  taken,"  says  Xenophon,  "as  was  cus- 
tomary, the  senatorial  oath,  by  which  he  bound  himself  to 
act  in  all  things  conformably  to  the  laws,  and  arriving  in 
his  turn  to  be  president  of  the  assembly  of  the  people,  he 
boldly  refused  to  give  his  suffrage  to  the  iniquitous  sen- 
tence which  condemned  the  nine  captains,  being  neither 
intimidated  by  the  menaces  of  the  great,  nor  the  fury  of 
the  people,  but  steadily  preferring  the  sanctity  of  an  oath 
to  the  safety  of  his  person.  For  he  was  persuaded  the 
gods  watched  over  the  affairs  of  men,  in  a  way  altogether 
different  from  what  the  vulgar  imagined  ;  for  while  these 
limited  their  knowledge  to  some  particulars  only,  Socrates, 
on  the  contrary,  extended  it  to  all,  firmly  persuaded  that 
they  are  everywhere  present,  and  that  every  word,  every 
action,  nay,  even  our  most  retired  deliberations,  were  open 
to  their  view."  f 

In  the  last  place,  a  sense  of  religion,  where  it  is  sincere, 
will  necessarily  be  attended  with  a  complete  resignation  of 
our  own  will  to  that  of  the  Deity,  as  it  teaches  us  to  regard 
every  event,  even  the  most  afflicting,  as  calculated  to  pro- 
mote beneficent  purposes,  which  we  are  unable  to  com- 
prehend, and  to  promote,  finally,  the  perfection  and  hap- 
piness of  our  own  nature.  This  is  the  best,  and,  indeed, 
the  only  rational  foundation  of  fortitude.  Nay,  it  may  be 

*  Sterne's  Sermons.  \  Mentor.  Lib.  I.  c.  i. 


DUTIES   TO   GOD.  311 

safely  affirmed,  (as  Socrates  long  ago  observed  in  the 
Phcedo  of  Plato,)  that  \vhoever  founds  his  fortitude  on 
any  thing  else  is  only  valiant  through  fear.  In  other 
words,  he  exposes  himself  to  danger,  merely  from  a  re- 
gard to  the  opinion  of  others,  and,  of  consequence,  wants 
that  internal  principle  of  heroism  which  can  alone  arm  the 
mind  with  patience  under  those  misfortunes  which  it  is 
condemned  to  bear  in  solitude,  or  under  sorrows  which 
prudence  conceals  from  the  public  eye.  But  to  the  man 
who  believes  that  every  thing  is  ordered  for  the  best,  and 
that  his  existence  and  happiness  are  in  the  hands  of  a 
Being  who  watches  over  him  with  the  care  of  a  parent, 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  life  only  serve  to  call  forth 
the  latent  powers  of  the  soul,  by  reminding  him  of  the 
prize  for  which  he  combats,  and  of  that  beneficent  Provi- 
dence by  which  the  conflict  was  appointed. 

Safe  in  the  hands  of  one  disposing  Power, 
Or  in  the  natal  or  the  mortal  hour. 

IV.  Religion  the  First'  and  Chief  Branch  of  Moral 
Duty.~\  The  view  which  I  have  given  of  religion,  as 
forming  the  first  and  chief  branch  of  moral  duty,  and  as 
contributing  in  its  turn  most  powerfully  to  promote  the 
practice  of  every  virtue,  is  equally  consonant  to  the  spirit 
of  the  Sacred  Writings,  and  to  the  most  obvious  dictates 
of  reason  and  conscience  ;  and  accordingly  it  is  sanctioned 
by  the  authority  of  all  those  philosophers  of  antiquity 
who  devoted  their  talents  to  the  improvement  and  happi- 
ness of  mankind.  "It  should  never  be  thought,"  says 
Plato  in  one  of  his  Dialogues,  u  that  there  is  any  branch 
of  human  virtue  of  greater  importance  than  piety  towards 
the  Deity."  The  chief  article  of  the  unwritten  laic 
mentioned  by  Socrates  is,  "  that  the  gods  ought  to  be  wor- 
shipped." "  This,"  he  says,  "  is  acknowledged  every- 
where, and  received  by  all  men  as  the  first  command."  * 
And  to  the  same  purpose  Cicero,  in  the  first  book  of  his 
Offices,  places  in  the  first  rank  of  duties  those  we  owe 
to  the  immortal  gods.  "  In  ipsa  communitate  sunt  gra- 
dus  officiorum  ex  quibus,  quid  cuique  prastet,  intelligi 

*  Xen.  Memor.  Lib.  IV.  c.  iv. 


312  DUTIES    TO    GOD. 

possit  :  ut  prima  Diis  immortalibus  ;  secunda,  patriae  ; 
tertia,  parentibus,  deinceps  gradatim  reliquis  debeantur."  * 

The  elevation  of  mind  which  some  of  the  most  illustri- 
ous characters  of  antiquity  derived  from  their  religious 
principles,  however  imperfect  and  erroneous,  and  the 
weight  which  these  principles  gave  them  in  their  public 
and  political  capacity,  are  remarked  by  many  ancient  writ- 
ers ;  and  such,  I  apprehend,  will  be  always  found  to  be 
the  case  when  the  personal  importance  of  the  individual 
rests  on  the  basis  of  public  opinion.  "  But  he,"  says 
Plutarch,  "who  was  most  conversant  with  Pericles,  and 
most  contributed  to  give  him  a  grandeur  of  mind,  and  to 
make  his  high  spirit  for  governing  the  popular  assemblies 
more  weighty  and  authoritative,  —  in  a  word,  who  exalted 
his  ideas,  and  raised,  at  the  same  time,  the  dignity  of  his 
demeanour, — the  person  who  did  this  was  Anaxagoras 
the  Clazomenian,  whom  the  people  of  that  age  reverenced 
as  the  first  who  made  mind  or  intellect  (in  opposition  to 
chance]  a  principle  in  the  formation  and  government  of 
the  universe."  f 

The  extraordinary  respect  which  the  Romans,  during 
their  period  of  greatest  glory,  entertained  for  religion 
(false  as  their  own  system  was  in  its  mythological  founda- 
tions, and  erroneous  in  many  of  its  practical  tendencies) 
has  been  often  taken  notice  of  as  one  of  the  principal 
sources  of  their  private  and  public  virtues.  "  The  Span- 
iards," says  Cicero,  "  exceed  us  in  numbers  ;  the  Gauls 
in  the  glory  of  war  ;  but  we  surpass  all  nations  in  that 
wisdom  by  which  we  have  learned  that  all  things  are  gov- 
erned and  directed  by  the  immortal  gods."| 

In  the  latter  periods  of  their  history,  this  reverence  for 
religion,  together  with  the  other  virtues  which  gave  them 
the  empire  of  the  world,  was  in  a  great  measure  lost  ;  and 
we  continually  find  their  orators  and  historians  drawing  a 
melancholy  contrast  between  the  degeneracy  of  their  man- 

*  Lib.  I.  c.  ult.  "In  society  itself  our  duties  are  of  different  degrees, 
in  which  the  proper  order  of  preference  is  readily  understood  :  —  first 
of  all,  our  duties  to  the  immortal  gods;  secondly,  to  our  country  ;  third- 
ly, to  our  parents,  and,  alter  them,  to  other  men  in  their  several  grada- 
tions." 

t   yU.  Peric. 

i  Oral,  de  Harusp.  Respon.  c.  ix. 


DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN.  313 

ners  and  those  of  their  ancestors.  In  the  account  which 
Livy  has  given  of  the  consulate  of  Q.  Cincinnatus,  he 
mentions  an  attempt  which  the  tribunes  made  to  persuade 
the  people  that  they  were  not  bound  by  their  military  oath 
to  follow  the  consul  to  the  field,  because  they  had  taken 
that  oath  when  he  was  a  private  man.  But,  however 
agreeable  this  doctrine  might  be  to  their  inclinations,  and 
however  strongly  recommended  to  them  by  the  sanction 
of  their  own  popular  magistrates,  we  find  that  their  rever- 
ence for  the  religion  of  an  oath  led  them  to  treat  the  doc- 
trine as  nothing  better  than  a  cavil.  Livy's  reflection  on 
this  occasion  is  remarkable.  "  Nondum  haec,  qua?  nunc 
tenet  seculum,  negligentia  Deum  venerat  :  nee  interpre- 
tando  sibi  quisque  jusjurandum  leges  aptas  faciebat,  sed 
suos  potius  mores  ad  ea  accommodabat."  * 


CHAPTER     II. 

OF  THE  DUTIES  WHICH   RESPECT  OUR  FELLOW- 
CREATURES. 

UNDER  this  title  it  is  not  proposed  to  give  a  complete 
enumeration  of  our  social  duties,  but  only  to  point  out 
some  of  the  most  important,  chiefly  with  a  view  to  show 
the  imperfections  of  those  systems  of  morals  which  at- 
tempt to  resolve  the  whole  of  virtue  into  one  particular 
principle.  Among  these,  that  which  resolves  virtue  into 
benevolence  is  undoubtedly  the  most  amiable  ;  but  even 
this  system  will  appear,  from  the  following  remarks,  not 
only  to  be  inconsistent  with  truth,  but  to  lead  to  dangerous 
consequences. 

*  Lib.  III.  c.  xx.  "  But  that  disregard  of  the  gods,  which  prevails 
in  the  present  age,  had  not  then  taken  place  ;  nor  did  every  one,  by 
his  own  interpretations,  accommodate  oaths  and  the  laws  to  his  par- 
ticular views,  but  rather  adapted  his  practice  to  them." 

27 


314  DUTIES    TO  OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

SECTION  I. 

OF  BENEVOLENCE. 

I.  Hutcheson  resolves  all  Virtue  into  Benevolence.] 
Benevolence  is  so  important  a  branch  of  virtue,  that  it 
has  been  supposed  by  some  moralists  to  constitute  the 
whole  of  it.  According  to  these  writers,  good-will  to 
mankind  is  the  only  immediate  object  of  moral  approba- 
tion ;  and  the  obligation  of  all  our  other  moral  duties  arises 
entirely  from  their  apprehended  tendency  to  promote  the 
happiness  of  society. 

Among  the  most  eminent  partisans  of  this  system  in 
modern  times,  Mr.  Smith  mentions  particularly  Dr.  Ralph 
Cud  worth,  Dr.  Henry  More,  and  Mr.  John  Smith  of 
Cambridge  ;  "but  of  all  its  patrons,"  he  observes,  "  an- 
cient or  modern,  Dr.  Francis  Hutcheson  was  undoubted- 
ly beyond  all  comparison  the  most  acute,  the  most  distinct, 
the  most  philosophical,  and,  what  is  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence of  all,  the  soberest  and  most  judicious."  * 

In  favor  of  this  system,  Mr.  Smith  acknowledges  that 
there  are  many  appearances  in  human  nature  which  at  first 
sight  seem  strongly  to  support  it ;  and  of  some  of  these 
appearances  Dr.  Hutcheson  avails  himself  with  much 
acuteness  and  plausibility.  First,  whenever,  in  any  action 
supposed  to  proceed  from  benevolent  affections,  some 
other  motive  is  discovered,  our  sense  of  the  merit  of  this 
action  is  just  so  far  diminished  as  this  motive  is  believed 
to  have  influenced  it.  Secondly,  when  those  actions,  on 
the  contrary,  which  are  commonly  supposed  to  proceed 
from  a  selfish  motive  are  discovered  to  have  arisen  from  a 
benevolent  one,  it  generally  enhances  our  sense  of  their 
merit.  Lastly,  it  was  urged  by  Dr.  Hutcheson,  that,  in 
all  casuistical  disputes  concerning  the  rectitude  of  conduct, 
the  ultimate  appeal  is  uniformly  made  to  utility.  In  the 
later  debates,  for  example,  about  passive  obedience  and 
the  right  of  resistance,  the  sole  point  in  controversy  among 
men  of  sense  was,  whether  universal  submission  would 
probably  be  attended  with  greater  evils  than  temporary  in- 

•  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  VII.  Sect.  ii.  chap.  iii. 


BENEVOLENCE.  315 

surrections  when  privileges  were  invaded.  Whether  what, 
upon  the  whole,  tended  most  to  the  happiness  of  mankind 
was  not  also  morally  good,  was  never  once  made  a  question. 

Since  benevolence,  therefore,  was  the  only  motive  which 
could  bestow  upon  any  action  the  character  of -virtue,  the 
greater  the  benevolence  which  was  evidenced  by  any  ac- 
tion, the  greater  the  praise  which  must  belong  to  it. 

In  directing  all  our  actions  to  promote  the  greatest  pos- 
sible good,  —  in  submitting  all  inferior  affections  to  the  de- 
sire of  the  general  happiness  of  mankind,  —  in  regarding 
one's  self  as  but  one  of  the  many,  whose  prosperity  was  to 
be  pursued  no  further  than  it  was  consistent  with,  or  con- 
ducive to,  that  of  the  whole,  —  consisted  the  perfection  of 
virtue. 

Dr.  Hutcheson  held,  further,  that  self-love  was  a  princi- 
ple which  could  never  be  virtuous  in  any  degree  or  in  any 
direction.  This  maxim  he  carried  so  far  as  to  assert,  that 
even  a  regard  to  the  pleasure  of  self-approbation,  to  the 
comfortable  applauses  of  our  own  consciences,  diminishes 
the  merit  of  a  benevolent  action.  "  In  the  common  judg- 
ments of  mankind,  however,"  says  Mr.  Smith,  "this  re- 
gard to  the  approbation  of  our  own  minds  is  so  far  from 
being  considered  as  what  can  in  any  respect  diminish  the 
virtue  of  any  action,  that  it  is  rather  looked  upon  as  the 
sole  motive  which  deserves  the  appellation  of  virtuous." 

Of  the  truth  and  correctness  of  these  principles  Dr." 
Hutcheson  was  so  fully  convinced,  that,  in  conformity  to 
them,  he  has  offered  some  algebraical  formulas  for  comput- 
ing mathematically  the  morality  of  actions.  Of  this  very 
extraordinary  attempt  the  following  axioms,  which  he  pre- 
mises to  his  formulas,  may  serve  as  a  sufficient  specimen. 

1 .  The  moral  importance  of  any  agent,  or  the  quantity 
of  public  good  produced  by  him,  is  in  a  compound  ratio 
of  his  benevolence  and  abilities,  or  M  (moment  of  good) 
=  BX  A. 

2.  In  like  manner  the  moment  of  private  good  or  in- 
terest produced  by  any  person  to  himself  is  in  a  com- 
pound ratio  of  his  self-love  and  ability,  or  I  =  S  X  A. 

3.  When,  in  comparing  the  virtue  of  two  agents,  the 
abilities  are  equal,  the  moment  of  public  good  produced 
by  them  in  like  circumstances  is  as  the  benevolence,  or 
M  =  B  X  1 . 


316  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

4.  When  benevolence  in  two  agents  is  equal,  and  other 
circumstances  alike,  the  moment  of  public  good  is  as  the 
abilities,  or  M  =  A  X  1. 

5.  The  virtue,  then,  of  agents,  or  their  benevolence, 
is  always  directly  as  the  moment  of  good  produced  in  like 
circumstances,  and  inversely  as  their  abilities,  or  B  =  "•* 

-r~  -* 

II.  Objections  to  this  Theory.]  As  Dr.  Hutcheson's 
example  in  the  use  of  these  formulas  has  not  been  follow- 
ed by  any  of  his  successors,  it  is  unnecessary  to  employ 
any  arguments  to  expose  the  absurdity  of  this  unsuccessful 
innovation  in  the  usual  language  of  ethics. f  It  is  of  more 
consequence  to  direct  our  attention  to  the  substance  of 
the  doctrine  which  it  was  the  great  object  of  the  ingenious 
author  to  establish. 

And,  in  the  first  place,  the  necessary  and  obvious  con- 
sequences to  which  this  account  of  virtue  leads  seem  to 
furnish  a  satisfactory  proof  of  its  unsoundness.  For  if 
the  merit  of  an  action  depends  on  no  other  circumstance 
than  the  quantity  of  good  intended  by  the  agent,  then  the 
rectitude  of  an  action  can  in  no  case  be  influenced  by  the 
mutual  relations  of  the  parties  ;  —  a  conclusion  contradicted 
by  the  universal  judgment  of  mankind  in  favor  of  the  par- 
amount obligation  of  various  other  duties.  It  is  sufficient 
to  mention  the  obligations  of  gratitude,  of  veracity,  and  of 
justice.  J  Unless  we  admit  these  duties  to  be  immediately 
obligatory,  we  must  admit  the  maxim,  that  a  good  end 
may  sanctify  any  means  necessary  for  its  attainment  ;  or, 
in  other  words,  that  it  would  be  lawful  for  us  to  dispense 
with  the  obligations  of  veracity  and  justice  whenever,  by 
doing  so,  we  had  a  prospect  of  promoting  any  of  the  es- 
sential interests  of  society. 

With  respect  to  this  maxim,  I  would  only  ask,  Is  it 
probable,  a  priori,  that  the  wise  and  beneficent  Author 
of  the  universe  should  have  left  the  conduct  of  such  a 

*  Hutcheson's  Inquiry  into  the  Original  of  our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and 
Virtue,  Treatise  II.  Sect.  iii. 

t  Dr.  Hutcheson's  attempt  to  introduce  the  language  of  mathematics 
into  morals  gave  occasion  to  a  valuable  Essay  on  Quantity,  by  the  late 
Dr.  Reid.  This  essay  may  be  found  in  the  Philosophical  Transactions 
of  the  Royal  Society  of  London  for  the  year  1748.  [It  is  reprinted  in 
Sir  W.  Hamilton's  edition  of  Dr.  Reid's  Works.] 

t  See  Butler's  Essay  on  the  Nature  of  Virtue,  at  the  end  of  \\\a  Analogy. 


BENEVOLENCE.  317 

fallible  and  shortsighted  creature  as  man  to  be  regulated 
by  no  other  principle  than  the  private  opinion  of  each  in- 
dividual with  respect  to  the  expediency  of  his  actions  ? 
Or,  in  other  words,  by  the  conjectures  which  the  indi- 
vidual might  form  on  the  good  or  evil  resulting,  on  the 
whole,  from  an  endless  train  of  future  contingencies  ? 
Were  this  the  case,  the  opinions  of  mankind  concerning 
the  rules  of  morality  would  be  as  various  as  their  judg- 
ments concerning  the  probable  issue  of  the  most  doubtful 
and  difficult  determination  in  politics.  Numberless  cases 
might  be  fancied,  in  which  a  person  would  not  only  claim 
merit  to  himself,  but  actually  possess  it,  in  consequence 
of  actions  which  are  generally  regarded  with  indignation 
and  abhorrence.  Even  men  of  the  soundest  judgment  and 
most  penetrating  sagacity  might  frequently  be  led  to  the 
perpetration  of  enormities,  if  they  had  no  other  standard 
of  right  and  wrong  but  what  they  derived  from  their  own 
uncertain  anticipations  of  futurity.  And  when  we  con- 
sider how  small  the  number  of  such  men  is,  in  compari- 
son of  those  whose  understandings  are  perverted  by  the 
prejudices  of  education,  and  by  their  own  selfish  passions, 
it  is  easy  to  see  what  a  scene  of  anarchy  the  world  would 
become.  Surely,  if  the  Deity  intended  the  happiness  of 
his  creatures,  he  would  not  build  the  order  (I  may  say 
the  existence)  of  society  on  so  precarious  a  foundation. 
And  here  it  deserves  particularly  to  be  mentioned,  that 
one  of  the  arguments  commonly  produced  in  support  of 
the  scheme  is  drawn  from  the  benevolence  of  God.  Be- 
nevolence, we  are  told,  induced  the  Deity  to  call  the  uni- 
verse into  existence,  and  benevolence  is  the  great  law  of 
his  government ;  and  as  virtue  in  man  must  consist  in  con- 
formity to  the  will  of  God,  in  imitating  his  moral  perfec- 
tions to  the  utmost  of  our  power,  it  is  concluded  that 
virtue  and  benevolence  are  the  same.  But  the  premises 
here  lead  to  a  conclusion  directly  opposite  ;  for  if  the 
happiness  of  mankind  be  the  great  end  for  which  they 
are  brought  into  being,  it  is  presumable  that  the  rules  of 
their  conduct  are  of  such  a  nature  as  to  be  obvious  to  the 
capacities  of  all  men  of  sincere  and  well-disposed  minds. 
Accordingly,  we  find,  (and  the  fact  is  in  a  peculiar  degree 
worthy  of  attention,)  that,  while  the  theory  of  ethics  in- 
27* 


318  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

volves  some  of  the  most  abstruse  questions  which  have 
ever  employed  the  human  faculties,  the  moral  judgments 
and  moral  feelings  of  the  most  distant  ages  and  nations, 
with  respect  to  all  the  most  essential  duties  of  life,  are  one 
and  the  same.* 

The  reasonableness  of  the  foregoing  conclusion  will  be 
much  confirmed,  if  we  consider  how  much  the  happiness 
of  mankind  is  often  left  to  depend  on  the  will  of  one  or  of 
a  few  individuals.  The  best  men,  in  such  circumstances, 
when  invested  with  absolute  power,  might  be  rendered 
curses  to  the  world  by  sanguine  plans  of  beneficence  ; 
and  the  ambitious  and  designing  would  be  supplied  with 
specious  pretences  to  justify  the  most  cruel  and  tyrannical 
measures.  In  truth,  it  is  this  very  plea  of  benevolent  in- 
tention which  has  been  employed  to  palliate,  or  rather  to 
sanctify,  the  conduct  of  the  greatest  scourges  of  the  human 
race.  It  is  this  very  plea  which,  in  former  times,  lighted 
up  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition,  and  which,  in  our  own  age, 
has  furnished  a  pretence  for  outrages  against  all  the  prin- 
ciples of  justice  and  all  the  feelings  of  humanity. f 

It  may  perhaps  be  urged,  that  the  principle  of  benevo- 
lence, or  a  regard  to  utility,  would  lead  to  an  invariable 
adherence  to  the  rules  of  veracity,  gratitude,  and  justice  ; 
because  in  this  way  mora  good  is  produced  on  the  whole 
than  could  be  obtained  by  any  occasional  deviations  from 
them  ;  that  it  is  this  idea  of  utility  which  first  leads  us  to 
approve  of  these  virtues  ;  and  that  afterwards  habit,  or  the 
association  of  ideas,  makes  us  observe  their  rules  without 
thinking  of  consequences.  But  is  not  this  to  adopt  that 
mode  of  reasoning  which  Hutcheson  censures  so  severely 
in  the  selfish  philosophers  ?  According  to  them,  we  labor 
to  promote  the  public  prosperity,  because  we  believe  our 
own  to  be  intimately  connected  with  it.  They  acknowl- 
edge, at  the  same  time,  that  we  often  make  a  real  sacrifice 
of  private  to  public  advantage,  and  that  we  often  exert  our- 
selves in  the  public  service  without  once  thinking  of  our 

*  Si  quid  rectissimum  sit  qucerimus,  perspicuum  est.  Si  quid  maximi: 
ezpediat,  obscurum. —  Cic.  Ep.  ad  Fam.,  I V.  2. 

t  See  the  remarks  on  Paley's  scheme  of  morals  in  Gisborne's  Prin- 
ciples of  Moral  Philosophy,  where  these  arguments  are  urged  with  great 
force.  [They  are  replied  to  by  Wainewright,  in  his  Vindication  of  Dr. 
Paley's  Theory  of  Morals,  Chap.  II.] 


BENEVOLENCE.  319 

own  interest.  But  all  this  they  explain  by  habits  and  as- 
sociations, which  operate  in  this  case  as  they  do  in  the  case 
of  the  miser,  who,  although  his  attachment  to  money  was 
originally  founded  on  the  consideration  of  its  uses,  yet 
continues  to  accumulate  wealth  without  once  thinking  of 
the  ends  to  which  it  is  subservient,  and  indeed  long  after 
he  is  able  to  enjoy  those  comforts  which  it  can  purchase. 

Now,  as  I  have  said,  the  fallaciousness  of  this  mode  of 
reasoning  has  been  pointed  out  by  Dr.  Hutcheson  with 
great  clearness  and  force  ;  and  the  arguments  he  employs 
against  it  may  with  great  justice  be  turned  against  himself. 
In  general,  the  safest  rule  we  can  follow  in  our  inquiries 
concerning  the  principles  of  human  conduct  is  to  acquiesce, 
in  the  first  instance,  in  the  plain  and  obvious  appearance 
of  facts;  and  if  these  conclusions  are  inaccurate,  to  cor- 
rect them  gradually,  in  proportion  as  a  more  attentive  ex- 
amination of  our  subject  discovers  to  us  the  prejudices 
which  education  and  accidental  associations  have  blended 
with  the  truth.  It  is  at  least  a  presumption  in  favor  of  any 
system  concerning  the  mind,  that  it  falls  in  with  the  natural 
apprehensions  of  mankind  in  all  countries  and  ages  ;  —  and 
I  believe  it  will  commonly  be  found  that  these  are  the 
systems  which,  in  the  progress  of  human  reason,  are  justi- 
fied by  the  most  profound  and  enlightened  philosophy.  I 
state  this  observation  with  the  greater  confidence,  as  it 
coincides  with  the  following  admirable  remark  of  Mr. 
Hume,  —  an  author  who  had  certainly  no  interest  in  in- 
culcating such  a  doctrine,  as  he  seems  to  have  paid  very 
little  attention  to  it  in  the  course  of  his  own  speculations. 

"  The  case  is  not  the  same  in  moral  philosophy  as  in 
physics.  Many  an  hypothesis  in  nature,  contrary  to  first 
appearances,  has  been  found,  on  more  accurate  scrutiny, 
solid  and  satisfactory.  Instances  of  this  kind  are  so  fre- 
quent that  a  judicious  as  well  as  witty  philosopher  *  has 
ventured  to  affirm,  if  there  be  more  than  one  way  in  which 
a  phenomenon  may  be  produced,  that  there  is  a  general 
presumption  for  its  arising  from  the  causes  which  are  the 
least  obvious  and  familiar.  But  the  presumption  always 
lies  on  the  other  side  in  all  inquiries  concerning  the  origin 
of  our  passions,  and  of  the  internal  operations  of  the  human 

*  Fontenelle. 


320  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

mind.  The  simplest  and  most  obvious  cause  which  can 
there  be  assigned  for  any  phenomenon  is  probably  the  true 
one.  When  a  philosopher,  in  the  explication  of  his  sys- 
tem, is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  some  very  intricate  and 
refined  reflections,  and  to  suppose  them  essential  to  the 
production  of  any  passion  or  emotion,  we  have  reason  to  be 
extremely  on  our  guard  against  so  fallacious  an  hypothesis. 
The  affections  are  not  susceptible  of  any  impression  from 
the  refinements  of  reason  or  imagination  ;  and  it  is  always 
found,  that  a  vigorous  exertion  of  the  latter  faculty  neces- 
sarily, from  the  limited  capacity  of  the  human  mind,  de- 
stroys all  activity  in  the  former.  Our  predominant  motive 
or  interest  is  indeed  frequently  concealed  from  ourselves 
when  it  is  mingled  and  confounded  with  other  motives, 
which  the  mind,  from  vanity  and  self-conceit,  is  desirous 
of  supposing  more  prevalent ;  but  there  is  no  instance  that 
a  concealment  of  this  nature  has  ever  arisen  from  the  ab- 
struseness  and  intricacy  of  the  motive.  •  A  man  that  has 
lost  a  friend  and  patron  may  flatter  himself  that  all  his 
grief  arises  from  generous  sentiments,  without  any  mixture 
of  narrow  or  interested  considerations  ;  but  a  man  that 
grieves  for  a  valuable  friend  who  needed  his  patronage  and 
protection,  how  can  we  suppose  that  his  passionate  ten- 
derness arises  from  some  metaphysical  regards  to  a  self- 
interest  which  has  no  foundation  in  reality  ?  We  may  as 
well  imagine  that  minute  wheels  and  springs,  like  those  of 
a  watch,  give  motion  to  a  wagon,  as  account  for  the  origin 
of  passion  from  such  abstruse  reflections."  * 

It  I.  The  same  Objections  applicable  to  the  Doctrine  of 
Utility,  as  held  by  flume,  Godwin,  and  Paley.]  The 
remarks  which  I  have  now  made  with  respect  to  Dr. 
Hutcheson's  philosophy  are  applicable,  with  some  slight 
alterations,  to  a  considerable  variety  of  moral  systems 
which  have  been  offered  to  the  world  under  very  different 
forms,  but  which  agree  with  him  and  with  each  other  in  de- 
riving the  practical  rules  of  virtuous  conduct  from  consid- 
erations of  utility.  All  of  these  systems  are  but  modifica- 
tions of  the  old  doctrine  which  resolves  the  whole  of  virtue 
into  benevolence. 

*  Inquiry  concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals,  Appendix  II.     . 


BENEVOLENCE.  321 

This  theory  of  utility  (which  is  of  a  very  ancient  date, 
and  which  in  modern  times  has  derived  much  celebrity 
from  the  genius  of  Mr.  Hume)  has  been  revived  more  re- 
cently by  Mr.  Godwin,  and  by  the  late  Dr.  Paley.  Wide- 
ly as  these  two  writers  differ  in  the  source  whence  they 
derive  their  rule  of  conduct,  and  the  sanctions  by  which 
they  enforce  its  observance,  they  are  perfectly  agreed 
about  its  paramount  authority  over  every  other  principle 
of  action.  "  Whatever  is  expedient,"  says  Dr.  Paley, 
"  is  right.  It  is  the  utility  of  any  moral  rule  alone  which 
constitutes  the  obligation  of  it."  *  "  But  then  it  must  be 
expedient  on  the  whole,  at  the  long  run,  in  all  its  effects, 
collateral  and  remote,  as  well  as  those  which  are  immedi- 
ate and  direct,  as  it  is  obvious  that,  in  computing  conse- 
quences, it  makes  no  difference  in  what  way  or  at  what 
distance  they  ensue."  f  Mr.  Godwin  has  nowhere  ex- 

*  Principles  of  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy,  Book  II.  Chap.  vi. 

t  Ibid.  Chap.  viii.  In  another  part  of  this  work,  Book  VI.  Chap,  xii., 
Dr.  Paley  explicitly  asserts  that  every  moral  rule  is  liable  to  be  super- 
seded in  particular  cases  on  the  ground  of  expediency.  "  Moral  Phi- 
losophy cannot  pronounce  that  any  rule  of  morality  is  so  rigid  as  to 
bend  to  no  exceptions;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  can  she  comprise  these 
exceptions  within  any  previous  description.  She  confesses  that  the 
obligation  of  every  law  depends  upon  its  ultimate  utility ;  that  this 
utility  having  a  finite  and  determinate  value,  situations  may  be  feign- 
ed, and  consequently  may  possibly  arise,  in  which  the  general  tendency 
is  outweighed  by  the  enormity  of  the  particular  mischief."  In  sucn 
an  event,  ultimate  utility  would  render  it  as  much  an  act  of  duty  to 
break  the  rule  as  it  is  on  other  occasions  to  observe  it. 

[Some  have  contended  that  Paley 's  criterion  of  right  is  not  liable  to 
the  same  objections  with  that  of  other  selfish  systems,  because  he  does 
not  make  it  turn  on  a  calculation  of  the  probable  consequences  of  the 
particular  action  in  hand,  but  on  what  is  called  the  doctrine  of"  general 
consequences."  "  The  general  consequence  of  any  action  may  be  esti- 
mated," he  says,  "  by  asking  what  would  be  the  consequence  if  the 
same  sort  of  actions  were  generally  permitted."  —  Moral  Philosophy, 
Book  II.  Chap.  viii.  But  to  this  Coleridge,  in  The  Friend,  Vol.  II.  Essay 
xi.,  replies  :  — 

1.  "  Here,  as  in  all  other  calculations,  the  result  depends  on   that 
faculty   of  the   soul    in    the  degrees   of  which    niPii  most   vary   from 
each  other,  and  which  is  itself  most  affected  by  accidental  advantages 
or  disadvantages    of  education,  natural   talent,    and    acquired    knowl- 
edge,—  the  faculty,  I  mean,  of  foresight  and  systematic  comprehen- 
sion.    But  surely  morality,  which  is  of  equal   importance  to  all  men, 
ought  to  be  grounded,  if  possible,  in  that  part  of  our  nature  which  in 
all  men  may  and  ought  to  be  the  same :    in  the  conscience   and  the 
common  sense." 

2.  "  This  criterion  confounds  morality  with  law  ;  and  when  the  au- 
thor adds,  that  in  all  probability  the  Divine  justice  will  be  regulated  in 


322  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

pressed  himself  on  this  fundamental  question  of  practical 
ethics  in  terms  more  decided  and  unqualified. 

Of  this  theory  of  utility,  so  strongly  recommended  to 
some  by  the  powerful  talents  of  Hume,  and  to  others  by 
the  well-merited  popularity  of  Paley,  the  most  satisfactory 
of  all  refutations  is  to  be  found  in  the  work  of  Mr.  God- 
win. It  is  unnecessary  to  inquire  how  far  the  practical 
lessons  he  has  inculcated  are  logically  inferred  from  his 
fundamental  principle  ;  for  although  I  apprehend  much 
might  be  objected  to  these,  even  on  his  own  hypothesis, 
yet  if  such  be  the  conclusions  to  which,  in  the  judgment 
of  so  acute  a  reasoner,  it  appeared  to  lead  with  demon- 
strative evidence,  nothing  further  is  requisite  to  illustrate 
the  practical  tendency  of  a  system  which,  absolving  men 
from  the  obligations  imposed  on  them  with  so  command- 

the  final  judgment  by  a  similar  rule,  he  draws  away  the  attention  from 
the  irill,  that  is,  from  the  inward  motives  and  impulses  which  constitute 
the  essence  of  morality,  to  the  outward  act,  and  thus  changes  the  vir- 
tue commanded  by  the  Gospel  into  the  mere  legality  which  was  to  be 
enlivened  by  it.  One  of  the  most  persuasive,  if  not  one  of  the  strongest, 
arguments  for  a  future  state  rests  on  the  belief,  that,  although  by  the 
necessity  of  things  our  outward  and  temporal  welfare  must  be  regulated 
by  our  outward  actions,  which  alone  can  be  the  objects  and  guides  of 
human  law,  there  must  yet  needs  come  a  juster  and  more  appropriate 
sentence  hereafter,  in  which  our  intentions  will  be  considered,  and  our 
happiness  and  misery  made  to  accord  with  the  grounds  of  our  actions. 
Our  fellow-creatures  can  only  judge  what  we  are  by  what  we  do;  but 
in  the  eye  of  our  Maker  what  we  do  is  of  no  worth,  except  as  it  flows 
from  what  we  are." 

3.  "  The  criterion  is  also  nugatory.     The    individual  is  to  imagine 
what  the  general  consequences  would  be,  all  other  things  remaining 
the  same,  if  all  men  were  to  act  as  he  is  about  to  act.     I  scarcely  need 
remind  the  reader  what  a  source  of  self-delusion  and  sophistry  is  here 
opened  to  a  mind  in  a  state  of  temptation.     Will  it  not  say  to  itself,  '  I 
know  that  all  men  will  not  act  so ;  and  the  immediate  good  consequen- 
ces, which  I  shall  obtain,  are  real,  while  the  bad  consequences  are  im- 
aginary and  improbable  '  ?     When  the   foundations   of  morality  have 
once  been  laid  in  the  outward  consequences,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  recall 
to  the  mind  what  the  consequences  would  be  were  all  men  to  reason 
in  the  Same  way  ;  for  the  very  excuse  of  this  mind  to  itself  is.  that  nei- 
ther its  action  nor  its  reasoning  is  likely  to  have  any  consequences  at 
all,  its  immediate  object  excepted." 

4.  "  But  suppose  the  mind  in  its  sanest  state.     How  can  it  possibly 
form  .-i  notion  of  the  nature  of  an  action  considered  as  indefinitely  mul- 
tiplied, unless  it  has  previously  a  distinct  notion  of  the  nature  of  the 
single  action  itself  which  is  the  multiplicand  ?     If  I  conceive  a  crown 
multiplied  a  hundred-fold,  the  simple  crown  enables  me  to  understand 
what  a  hundred  crowns  are ;  but  how  can  the  notion  hundred  teach 
me  what  a  crown  is  ?  " 


BENEVOLENCE.  323 

ing  an  authority  by  the  moral  constitution  of  human  na- 
ture, abandons  every  individual  to  the  guidance  of  his  own 
narrow  views  concerning  the  complicated  interests  of 
political  society. 

Among  the  practical  consequences  which  Dr.  Paley 
deduces  from  the  same  principle,  there  are  some  which  to 
my  mind  are  not  less  revolting  than  those  of  Mr.  Godwin. 
Such,  for  example,  is  the  argument  by  which  he  contro- 
verts the  received  maxim  of  criminal  jurisprudence,  that 
it  is  better  for  ten  guilty  persons  to  escape  than  for  one 
innocent  man  to  suffer.  But  on  this  subject  I  need  not 
enlarge.  The  sophistry,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  add,  the 
reckless  inhumanity  displayed  in  this  part  of  Paley's  work, 
have  been  triumphantly  exposed  by  that  great  and  good 
man,  Sir  Samuel  Romilly  ;  —  a  man  whom,  long  before 

5.  "I  confess  myself  unable  to  divine  any  possible  use,  or  even  mean- 
ing, in  this  doctrine  of  general  consequences,  unless  it  be  that  in  all  our 
actions  we  are  bound  to  consider  the  effect  of  our  example,  and  to  guard 
as  much  as  possible  against  the  hazard  of  their  being  misunderstood.     I 
will  not  slaughter  a  lamb,  or  drown  a  litter  of  kittens,  in  the  presence  of 
my  child  of  tour  years  old,  because  the  child  cannot  understand  my  ac- 
tion, but  will  understand  that  his  father  has  inflicted  pain,  and  taken 
away  life  from  beings  that  had  never  offended  him.     All  this  is  true, 
and  no  man  in  his  senses  ever  thought  otherwise.     But  methinks  it  is 
strange  to  state  that  as  a  criterion  of  morality  which  is  no  more  than  an 
accessory  aggravation  of  an  action  bad  in  its  own  nature,  or  a  ground  of 
caution  as  to  the  mode  and  time  in  which  we  are  to  do  or  suspend  what 
is  in  itself  good  and  innocent." 

6.  "  The  duty  of  setting  a  good  example  is  no  doubt  a  most  important 
duty  ;  but  the  example  is  good  or  bad,  necessary  or  unnecessary,  accord- 
ing as  the  action  may  be  which  has  a  chance  of  being  imitated.     1  once 
knew  a  small,  but  (in  outward  circumstances  at  least)   respectable  con- 
gregation, four  fifths  of  whom  professed  that  they  went  to  church  en- 
tirely for  the  example's  sake;  in  other  words,  to  cheat  each  other  and 
act  a  common  lie  !     These  rational  Christians  had  not  considered  that 
example  may  increase  the  good  or  evil  of  an  action,  but  can  never  con- 
stitute either.'' 

7.  "  To  the  objection,  that  the  doctrine  of  general  consequences  was 
stated  as  the  criterion  of  the  action,  not  of  the  agent,  1  might  answer, 
that  the  author  himself  had  in  some  measure  justified  me  in  not  noticing 
this  distinction  by  holding  forth  the  probability,  that  the  Supreme  Judge 
will  proceed  by  the  same  rule.     The  agent  may  then  safely  be  includ- 
ed in  the  action,  if  both  here  and  hereafter  the  action  only  and  its  gen- 
eral consequences  will  be  attended  to.     But  my  main  ground  of  justifi- 
cation is,  that  the  distinction  itself  is  merely   logical,  —  not  real  and 
vital.     The  character  of  the  avfnt  is  determined   by   his  view  of  the 
action  ;  and  that  system  of  morality  is  alone  true  and  suited  to  human 
nature,  which  unites  the  intention  and  the  motive,  the  warmth  and  the 
light,  in  one  and  the  same  act  of  mind."] 


324  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

his  talents  and  worth  were  known  to  the  public,  I  ad- 
mired and  loved,  and  whose  memory  I  shall  never  cease 
to  revere.* 


*  Observations  on  the  Criminal  Law  of  England.     See,  in  particular, 
Note  D. 

[For  some  account  of  the  writings  and  influence  of  Godwin,  see  the 
thirty-sixth  Lecture  of  Professor  Smyth,  On  the  French  Revolution.  He 
begins  his  notice  by  observing,  with  reference  to  the  time  of  the  first 
French  Revolution,  —  "  1  would  wish  to  afford  you  some  general  notion 
of  the  sort  of  mental  intoxication  which  then  prevailed  among  those 
who  should  have  been  the  guides  and  instructors  of  mankind.  And 
looking  round  for  this  purpose,  1  shall  select  from  the  rest,  as  a  memora- 
ble specimen  of  the  whole,  the  once  celebrated  work  of  Mr.  Godwin. 
The  influence  of  the  work  I  can  myself  remember.  In  any  ordinary 
state  of  the  world,  it  must  have  fallen  lifeless  from  the  press:  highly 
metaphysical,  continually  running  into  general  abstractions,  into  dis- 
quisitions never  ending,  still  beginning,  nothing  was  ever  less  fitted  to 
attract  a  reader  than  the  repulsive  Inquiry  concerning  Political  Justice; 
and  if  the  state  had  not  been  out  of  joint,  most  assuredly  scarce  a  reader 
would  have  been  found.  Some  years  after,  when  the  success  of  the 
work  had  been  established,  Mr.  Burke  was  asked  whether  he  had  seen 
it.  '  Why,  yes,  I  have  seen  it,'  was  the  answer, '  and  a  mighty  stupid- 
looking  book  it  is.'  No  two  words  could  better  have  described  it. 
The  late  excellent  Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  who  had  then  leisure  to  read 
every  thing,  told  a  friend  who  had  never  heard  of  it,  that  there  had 
just  appeared  a  book  by  far  the  most  absurd  that  had  ever  come  within 
bis  knowledge;  this  was  the  work  of  Godwin.  Mrs.  Barbauld,  also, 
who  at  length  by  the  progress  of  its  doctrines  was  compelled  to  look  at 
it,  declared  that  what  was  good  in  the  book  was  chiefly  taken  from 
Hume  ;  that  it  was '  borrowed  sense  and  original  nonsense.'  The  work, 
however,  prospered  ;  this'  original  nonsense  '  was  then  in  great  request, 
and  at  a  high  premium.  Mr.  Godwin  had  his  admirers,  had  his  school ; 
there  were  Godwinians  in  those  days,  as  well  as  Whigs  and  Tories, 
more  particularly  in  the  Inns  of  Court,  and  among  the  young  lawyers;  and 
this  borrower  of  sense  and  retailer  of  nonsense,  this  dreamer  of  dreams 
and  seer  of  visions,  was  suddenly  transformed  from  a  dissenting  clergy- 
man, dissatisfied  with  his  profession,  and  unknowing  and  unknown, 
into  a  person  pointed  at,  as  he  walked  in  the  metropolis  of  England,  as 
a  disturber  of  empires  and  a  reformer  of  the  world.' 

According  to  Mr.  Godwin,  every  thing  is  to  be  referred  to  justice. 
General  utility  is  the  criterion  of  justice,  and  one  of  his  extravagances 
consists  in  maintaining  that  all  private  affections  and  personal  obliga- 
tions are  to  be  sacrificed  to  it.  Professor  Smyth  goes  on  :  — 

"'But  justice,'  says  Mr.  Godwin, '  is  no  respecter  of  persons' ; — very 
well.  The  illustrious  Bishop  of  Cambray,  for  instance,  was  of  more 
worth  than  his  valet,  and  there  are  few  of  us,  says  Mr.  Godwin,  that 
would  hesitate  to  pronounce,  if  the  bishop's  palace  were  in  flames, 
which  of  the  two  should  be  preserved  But  again  :  — 

"  '  Suppose  I  had  been  myself  the  valet,'  says  Mr.  Godwin  ;  '  I  ought 
to  have  chosen  to  die,  rather  than  Fenelon  should  have  died.  To  have 
done  otherwise  would  have  been  a  breach  of  justice.'  Somewhat 
alarming  this,  but  let  it  pass  ;  —  very  well.  Again  :  — '  Suppose,'  says 
Mr.  Godwin,  the  valet  had  been  my  brother,  or  my  father,  or  my  bene- 


BENEVOLENCE.  325 

That  the  practice  of  veracity  and  justice,  and  of  all  our 
other  duties,  is  useful  to  mankind,  is  acknowledged  by 
moralists  of  all  descriptions  ;  and  there  is  good  reason  for 
believing,  that,  if  a  person  saw  all  the  consequences  of 
his  actions,  he  would  perceive  that  an  adherence  to  their 
rules  is  useful  and  advantageous  on  the  whole,  even  in 

factor; — this  would  not  alter  the  truth  of  the  proposition:  the  life  of 
Fenelon  would  still  be  more  valuable  than  that  of  the  valet;  and  jus- 
tice, pure,  unadulterated  justice,  would  still  have  preferred  that  which 
was  most  valuable;  justice  would  have  taught  me  to  save  the  life  of 
Fenelon  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  What  magic  is  there  in  the  pro- 
noun my  to  overturn  the  decision  of  impartial  truth  ?  My  brother,  or 
my  father,  may  be  a  fool  or  a  profligate,  malicious,  lying,  or  dishonest. 
If  they  be,  of  what  consequence  is  it  that  they  are  mine?  ' 

"  This,  then,  was  the  result  that  was  wanted, —  filial  duty  at  an  end. 
The  poor  father  was  to  see  his  son  helping  another  person  out  of  the 
flames,  and  be  left  himself  to  perish  ; — all  upon  the  principle  of  justice, 
the  foundation  of  all  morality.  Mathematicians,  when  their  reasonings 
conduct  them  to  some  unnatural  position,  —  that  the  greater  is  equal  to 
the  less,  or  the  less  to  the  greater, —  immediately  stop  short,  produce 
their  phrase,  quod  rst  absnrdum,  and  think  it  high  time  to  begin  again." 

The  logic  by  which  Godwin  reasons  away  the  obligation  that  exists 
between  parent  and  child  reminds  Professor  Smyth  of  the  following 
passage  in  Tristram  Shandy  :  — 

"  In  that  most  entertaining  performance,  the  lawyers  are  supposed 
discussing  a  law  question  before  Yorick  and  my  uncle  Toby.  '  In  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI.,'  says  one  of  them, 'in  the  famous  case,  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Suffolk's  case,  as  it  was  a  great 
cause,  and  much  depending  upon  its  issue,  and  as  many  causes  of  great 
property  were  likely  to  be  decided  in  times  to  come  by  the  precedent 
to  be  then  made,  the  most  learned,  as  well  in  the  laws  of  this  realm  as 
in  the  civil  Jaw,  were  consulted  together;  and  not  only  the  temporal 
lawyers  but  the  church  lawyers,  the  jurisconsult),  the  jurisprudentes, 
the  civilians,  the  advocates,  the  commissaries,  the  judges  of  the  con- 
sistory and  prerogative  courts  of  Canterbury  and  York,  with  the  Master 
of  the  Faculties,  were  all  unanimously  of  opinion,  that  the  mother,  the 
Duchess  of  Suffolk,  was  not  of  kin  to  her  child.' 

"  '  And  what  said  the  Duchess  of  Suffolk  to  it  ?  '  said  my  Uncle  Toby. 
This  was  an  unexpected  question,  it  seems;  and  as  nothing  could  be 
made  of  it,  the  lawyers  voted  the  order  of  the  day,  and  went  on  with 
their  law  argument :  this,  when  they  had  finished  it,  left  the  Duchess, 
as  before,  not  of  kin  to  her  own  child. 

"'Let  the  learned  say  what  they  will,  there  must  certainly,'  quoth 
my  Uncle  Toby,  '  be  pome  manner  of  consanguinity  between  the 
Duchess  of  Suffolk  and  her  son.' 

'"The  vulgar  are  of  the  same  opinion  to  this  hour,'  quoth  Yorick."  ; 

There  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  in  some  of  the  definitions  and 
speculations  of  Edwards  and  the  Hopkinsian  divines  in  this  country, 
and  those  of  Godwin.  For  references,  see  Ely's  Contrast  between  Cal- 
vinism and  Hopkinsianism,  Chap.  XI.  See  likewise  Robert  Hall's  cele- 
brated sermon,  Modern  fnfidflily  considered  -with  respect  to  its  Influence 
on  Society  ;  and  Dr.  Parr's  Spital  Sermon,  especially  the  Notes.] 

28 


326  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

those  cases  in  which  his  limited  views  incline  him  to  think 
otherwise.  The  same  observation  may  be  applied  lo 
self-interest,  that  the  most  effectual  way  of  promoting  it  is 
to  observe  religiously  the  obligations  of  morality  ;  and 
these  are  both  very  striking  instances  of  that  unity  of  de- 
sign which  is  conspicuous  alike  in  the  moral  and  natural 
world.  This  makes  it  an  easy  matter  for  a  philosopher 
to  give  a  plausible  explanation  of  all  our  duties  from  one 
principle,  because  the  general  tendency  of  all  of  them  is  to 
determine  us  to  the  same  course  of  life.  That  benevo- 
lence may  be  the  sole  principle  of  action  in  the  Deity  is 
possible  (although  when  we  affirm  that  it  is  so  we  go  be- 
yond our  depth)  ;  but  the  case  is  obviously  very  different 
with  mankind.  If  the  hypothesis  be  just  with  respect  to 
the  Deity,  we  must  suppose  that  he  enjoined  the  duties 
of  veracity  and  justice,  not  on  account  of  their  intrinsic 
rectitude,  but  of  their  utility.  But  still,  with  respect  to 
man  they  are  indispensable  laws,  for  he  has  an  immediate 
perception  of  their  rectitude.  And  indeed,  if  he  had  not, 
but  were  left  to  deduce  their  rectitude  from  the  conse- 
quences which  they  have  a  tendency  to  produce,  we  may 
venture  to  affirm  that  there  would  not  be  enough  of  virtue 
left  in  the  world  to  hold  society  together. 

It  is  remarked  by  Mr.  Smith,  in  a  passage  which  cannot 
be  too  frequently  recalled  to  the  reader's  attention,  that 
"  although,  in  accounting  for  the  operations  of  bodies,  we 
never  fail  to  distinguish  the  efficient  from  the  final  cause,  in 
accounting  for  those  of  the  mind  we  are  very  apt  to  con- 
found these  two  different  things  with  one  another.  When 
by  natural  principles  we  are  led  to  advance  those  ends 
which  a  refined  and  enlightened  reason  would  recommend 
to  us,  we  are  very  apt  to  impute  to  that  reason,  as  to 
their  efficient  cause,  the  sentiments  and  actions  by  which 
we  advance  those  ends,  and  to  imagine  that  to  be  the 
wisdom  of  man  which  in  reality  is  the  wisdom  of  God. 
Upon  a  superficial  view,  this  cause  seems  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce the  effects  which  are  ascribed  to  it,  and  the  system 
of  human  nature  seems  to  be  more  simple  and  agreeable 
when  all  its  different  operations  are  in  this  manner  de- 
duced from  a  single  principle." 


BENEVOLENCE.  327 

IV.  Reasons  which  have  induced  some  Writers  to  re- 
solve all  Virtue  into  Benevolence.]  To  the  strictures 
already  offered  on  Hutcheson's  writings  I  have  only  to 
add,  that  he  seems  to  consider  virtue  as  a  quality  of  our 
affections,  whereas  it  is  really  a  quality  of  our  actions  ;  or 
(perhaps  in  strict  propriety)  of  those  dispositions  from 
which  our  actions  immediately  proceed.  Our  benevolent 
affections  are  always  amiable,  but,  in  so  far  as  they  are 
constitutional,  they  are  certainly  in  no  respect  meritorious. 
Indeed,  some  of  them  are  common  to  us  with  the  brutes. 
When  they  are  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree,  we  may 
perhaps  consider  them  as  a  ground  of  moral  esteem,  be- 
cause they  indicate  the  pains  which  has  been  bestowed  on 
their  cultivation,  and  a  course  of  active  virtue  in  which 
they  have  been  exercised  and  strengthened.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  person  who  wants  them  is  always  an  object  of 
horror  ;  chiefly  because  we  know  they  are  only  to  be 
eradicated  by  long  habits  of  profligacy,  and  partly  in  con- 
sequence of  the  uneasiness  we  feel  when  we  see  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  nature  violated,  as  in  a  monstrous  animal 
production.  It  is  from  these  two  facts  that  the  plausibility 
of  Dr.  Hutcheson's  language  on  this  subject  in  a  great 
measure  arises  ;  but  if  the  facts  be  accurately  examined, 
they  will  be  found  perfectly  consistent  with  the  doctrine 
already  laid  down,  that  nothing  is  an  object  of  moral  praise 
or  blame,  but  what  depends  on  our  own  voluntary  exer- 
tions ;  and  of  consequence,  that  these  terms  are  not  appli- 
cable to  our  benevolent  or  malevolent  affections,  so  far  as 
we  suppose  them  to  result  necessarily  from  our  constitu- 
tional frame. 

In  order  to  think  with  accuracy  on  this  very  important 
point  of  morals,  it  is  also  necessary  to  distinguish  those 
benevolent  affections  which  urge  us  to  their  respective  ob- 
jects by  a  blind  impulse  from  that  rational  and  enlightened 
benevolence  which  interests  us  in  the  happiness  of  all 
mankind,  and  indeed  of  all  the  orders  of  sensitive  being. 
This  divine  principle  of  action  appears  but  little  in  the 
bulk  of  our  species  ;  for,  although  the  seeds  of  it  are 
sown  in  every  breast,  it  requires  long  and  careful  cultiva- 
tion to  rear  them  to  maturity,  choked  as  they  are  by 
envy,  by  jealousy,  by  selfishness,  and  by  those  contracted 


323  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

views  which  originate  in  unenlightened  schemes  of  human 
policy.  Clear  away  these  noxious  weeds,  and  the  genuine 
benevolence  of  the  human  heart  will  appear  in  all  ils  beau- 
ty. No  wonder,  then,  that  we  should  regard  with  such 
peculiar  sentiments  of  veneration  the  character  of  one 
whom  we  consider  as  the  sincere  and  unwearied  friend  of 
humanity  ;  for  such  a  character  implies  the  existence  of 
all  the  other  virtues ;  more  particularly,  candid  and  just 
dispositions  towards  our  fellow-creatures,  and  a  long  course 
of  persevering  exertion  in  combating  prejudice,  and  in 
eradicating  narrow  and  malignant  passions.  The  gratitude, 
besides,  which  all  men  must  feel  towards  one  in  whose  be- 
nevolent wishes  they  know  themselves  to  be  comprehend- 
ed, contributes  to  enliven  the  former  sentiment  of  moral 
esteem  ;  and  both  together  throw  so  peculiar  a  lustre  on 
this  branch  of  duty,  as  goes  far  to  account  for  the  origin 
of  those  systems  which  represent  it  as  the  only  direct  ob- 
ject of  moral  approbation. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  add,  before  leaving  the  sub- 
ject, that,  when  a  rational  and  habitual  benevolence  forms 
part  of  a  character,  it  will  render  the  conduct  perfectly 
uniform,  and  will  exclude  the  possibility  of  those  incon- 
sistencies that  are  frequently  observable  in  individuals  who 
give  themselves  up  to  the  guidance  of  particular  affections, 
either  private  or  public.  How  often,  for  example,  do  we 
meet  with  individuals,  who  have  great  pretensions  to  pub- 
lic spirit,  and  even  to  humanity,  on  important  occasions, 
who  affect  an  habitual  rudeness  in  the  common  intercourse 
of  society-!  The  public  spirit  of  such  men  cannot  possi- 
bly arise  from  genuine  benevolence,  otherwise  the  same 
principle  of  action  would  extend  to  every  different  part 
of  the  conduct  by  which  the  comfort  of  other  men  is  af- 
fected ;  and  in  the  case  of  most  individuals,  the  addition 
they  are  able  to  make  to  human  happiness,  by  the  constant 
exercise  of  courtesy  and  gentleness  to  all  who  are  within 
the  sphere  of  their  influence,  is  of  far  greater  amount  than 
all  that  can  result  from  the  more  splendid  and  heroic  ex- 
ertions of  their  bene6cence.  A  similar  remark  may  be 
applied  to  such  as  are  possessed  of  strong  private  attach- 
ments and  of  humanity  to  objects  in  distress,  while  they 
have  no  idea  of  public  spirit  ;  and  also  to  those  who  lay 


JUSTICE.  329 

claim  to  a  more  than  common  portion  of  patriotic  zeal, 
while  they  avow  a  contempt  for  the  general  interests  of 
humanity.  In  truth,  all  those  offices,  whether  apparently 
trifling  or  important,  which  contribute  to  augment  the  hap- 
piness of  our  fellow-creatures,  —  civility,  gentleness, 
kindness,  humanity,  patriotism,  universal  benevolence,  — 
are  only  diversified  expressions  of  the  same  disposition, 
according  to  the  circumstances  in  which  it  operates,  and 
the  relation  which  the  agent  bears  to  others. 


SECTION  II. 
OF  JUSTICE. 

I.  Definition  and  Origin  of  the  Sense  of  Justice. ]  The 
word  justice,  in  its  most  extensive  signification,  denotes  that 
disposition  which  leads  us,  in  cases  where  our  own  temper, 
or  passions,  or  interests  are  concerned,  to  determine  and  to 
act  without  being  biased  by  partial  considerations. 

I  had  occasion  formerly  to  observe,  that  a  desire  of  our 
own  happiness  is  inseparable  from  our  nature  as  sensitive 
and  rational  beings  ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conceive  of  a  being  capable  of  forming  the  ideas  of 
happiness  and  misery,  to  whom  the  one  shall  not  be  an 
object  of  desire  and  the  other  of  aversion.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  no  less  evident  that  this  desire  is  a  principle 
belonging  to  such  beings  exclusively  ;  inasmuch  as  the 
very  idea  of  happiness,  or  of  what  is  good  for  man  on  the 
whole,  presupposes  the  exercise  of  reason  in  the  mind 
which  is  able  to  perform  it  ;  and  as  it  is  only  a  being  pos- 
sessed of  the  power  of  self-government  which  can  pursue 
steadily  this  abstract  conception,  in  opposition  to  the  so- 
licitations of  present  appetite  and  passion.  This  rational 
self-love  (or,  in  other  words,  this  regard  to  what  is  good 
for  us  on  the  whole)  is  analogous,  in  some  important 
respects,  to  that  calm  benevolence  which  has  been  already 
illustrated.  They  are  both  characteristical  endowments 
of  a  rational  nature,  and  they  both  exert  an  influence  over 
the  conduct,  in  proportion  as  reason  gains  an  ascendant 
over  prejudice  and  error,  and  over  those  appetites  which 
are  common  to  us  and  to  the  brutes. 
28* 


330  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

The  inferior  principles  of  action  in  our  nature  have  all 
a  manifest  reference  to  one  or  other  of  these  rational  prin- 
ciples ;  for,  although  they  operate  without  any  reflection 
on  our  part,  they  all  lead  to  ends  bene6cial  to  the  individ- 
ual or  to  society.  Of  this  kind  are  hunger,  thirst,  the 
desire  of  knowledge,  the  desire  of  esteem,  pity  to  the  dis- 
tressed, natural  affection,  and  a  variety  of  others.  Upon 
the  whole,  these  t\vo  great  principles  of  action,  self-love 
and  benevolence,  coincide  wonderfully  in  recommending 
one  and  the  same  course  of  conduct ;  and  we  have  great 
reason  to  believe,  that,  if  we  were  acquainted  with  all  the 
remote  consequences  of  our  actions,  they  would  be  found 
to  coincide  entirely.  There  are,  however,  cases  in  which 
there  seems  to  be  an  interference  between  them  ;  and,  in 
such  cases,  the  generality  of  mankind  are  apt  to  be  influ- 
enced more  than  they  ought  to  be  by  self-love,  and  the 
principles  which  are  subsidiary  to  it.  These  sometimes 
lead  them  to  act  in  direct  opposition  to  their  sense  of  duty  ; 
but  much  more  frequently  they  influence  the  conduct  by 
suggesting  to  the  judgment  partial  and  erroneous  views  of 
circumstances,  and  by  persuading  men  that  the  line  of 
their  duty  coincides  with  that  which  is  prescribed  by  in- 
terest and  inclination.  Of  all  this  every  man  capable  of 
reflection  must  soon  be  convinced  from  experience,  and 
he  will  study  to  correct  his  judgment  in  cases  in  which  he 
himself  is  a  party,  either  by  recollecting  the  judgments 
he  has  formerly  passed  in  similar  circumstances  on  the  con- 
duct of  others,  or  by  stating  cases  to  himself,  in  which 
his  own  interest  and  predilections  are  perfectly  left  out  of 
the  question.  Now  I  use  the  word  justice  to  express 
that  disposition  of  mind  which  leads  a  man,  where  his  own 
interest  or  passions  are  concerned,  to  determine  and  to  act 
according  to  those  judgments  which  he  would  have  formed 
of  the  conduct  of  another  placed  in  a  similar  situation. 

But  although  I  believe  that  expedients  of  this  sort  are 
necessary  to  the  best  of  men  for  correcting  their  moral 
judgments  in  cases  in  which  they  themselves  are  parties, 
it  will  not  therefore  follow,  (as  1  have  before  observed,*) 
that  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  with  respect  to  our  own 
conduct  are  originally  derived  from  our  sentiments  with 

•  See  pp.  232,  233. 


JUSTICE.  331 

respect  to  the  conduct  of  others.  If  I  had  had  recourse 
to  no  such  expedient  for  correcting  my  first  judgment,  I 
should  still  have  formed  some  judgment  or  other  of  a  par- 
ticular conduct,  as  right,  wrong,  or  indifferent,  and  the 
only  difference  would  have  been,  that  I  should  probably 
have  decided  improperly,  from  a  false  or  a  partial  view  of 
the  case. 

It  is  observed  by  Mr.  Smith,  as  an  argument  against 
the  existence  of  a  moral  sense  or  moral  faculty ,  that  these 
words  are  of  very  recent  origin,  and  that  it  must  appear 
very  strange  that  a  principle,  which  Providence  undoubt- 
edly intended  to  be  the  governing  one  of  human  nature, 
should  hitherto  have  been  so  little  taken  notice  of,  as  not 
to  have  got  a  name  in  any  language.  If  this  observation 
is  levelled  merely  at  these  two  expressions,  I  do  not 
take  upon  me  to  defend  their  propriety.  I  use  them  be- 
cause they  are  commonly  employed  by  ethical  writers 
of  late,  and  because  I  do  not  think  them  liable  to  misin- 
terpretation after  the  explanation  of  them  I  formerly  gave. 
I  certainly  do  not  consider  them  as  expressing  an  im- 
planted relish  for  certain  qualities  of  actions  analogous  to 
our  relish  for  certain  tastes  and  smells.  All  I  contend 
for  is,  that  the  words  right  and  wrong,  ought  and  ought 
not,  express  simple  ideas  ;  that  our  perception  of  these 
qualities  in  certain  actions  is  an  ultimate  fact  of  our  na- 
ture ;  and  that  this  perception  always  implies  the  idea  of 
moral  obligation.  When  I  speak  of  a  moral  sense  or  a 
moral  faculty,  I  mean  merely  to  express  the  power  we  have 
of  forming  these  ideas;  but  I  do  not  suppose  that  this 
bears  any  more  analogy  to  our  external  senses  than  the 
power  we  have  of  forming  the  simple  ideas  of  number,  of 
time,  or  of  causation,  all  which  arise  in  the  mind,  we 
cannot  tell  how,  when  certain  objects  or  certain  events  are 
perceived  by  the  understanding.  If  those  ideas  were  as 
important  as  those  of  right  and  wrong,  or  had  been  as 
much  under  the  review  of  philosophers,  we  might  perhaps 
have  had  a  sense  of  time,  a  sense  of  number,  and  a  sense 
of  causation.  And,  in  fact,  something  very  like  this 
language  occurs  in  the  writings  of  Lord  Kames. 

But  if  Mr.  Smith  meant   to  be  understood  as  implying 
that  the  words  right  and  wrong,  ought  and  ought  not,  do 


332  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

not  express  simple  ideas,  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  re- 
marking, in  opposition  to  it,  that,  although  the  words 
moral  sense  and  moral  faculty,  considered  as  indicating 
their  source,  are  of  late  origin,  this  is  by  no  means  the  case 
with  the  word  conscience.  It  is  indeed  said,  that  con- 
science "  does  not  immediately  denote  any  moral  faculty, 
by  which  we  approve  or  disapprove,  —  that  it  supposes, 
indeed,  the  existence  of  some  such  faculty,  but  that  it 
properly  signifies  our  consciousness  of  having  acted  agree- 
ably or  contrary  to  its  directions."  *  But  the  truth  1  take 
to  be  this,  that  the  word  conscience  coincides  exactly  with 
the  moral  faculty,  with  this  difference  only,  that  the  former 
refers  to  our  own  conduct  alone,  whereas  the  latter  is 
meant  to  express  also  the  power  by  which  we  approve  or 
disapprove  of  the  conduct  of  others.  Now  if  this  be 
granted,  and  if  it  be  allowed  that  the  former  word  is  to  be 
found  in  all  languages,  and  that  the  latter  is  only  a  modern 
invention,  is  it  not  a  natural  inference,  that  our  judgments, 
with  respect  to  our  own  conduct,  are  not  merely  applica- 
tions to  ourselves  of  those  we  have  previously  formed 
with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  our  fellow-creatures  ? 

II.  The  Duty  of  Candor  ;  or  Justice  in  our  Apprecia- 
tion of  other  Men.]  It  would  be  endless  to  attempt  to 
point  out  all  the  various  forms  in  which  the  disposition 
formerly  defined  will  display  itself  in  life.  I  must  con- 
tent myself  with  mentioning  one  or  two  of  its  more  re- 
markable effects,  merely  as  examples  of  the  influence  it 
is  likely  to  have  on  the  conduct.  One  of  the  more  im- 
portant of  these  is  that  temper  of  mind  we  express  by 
the  word  candor,  which  prevents  our  judgments,  with 
respect  to  other  men,  from  being  improperly  biased  by 
our  passions  and  prejudices.  This,  although  at  bottom 
the  disposition  is  the  same,  may  be  considered  in  three 
lights  :  —  1st.  As  it  is  displayed  in  appreciating  the  tal- 
ents of  others.  2d.  In  judging  of  their  intentions.  3d. 
In  controversy. 

1.  There  is  no  principle  more  deeply  implanted  in  the 
mind  than  the  love  of  fame  and  of  distinction,  and  there  is 

*  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part.  VII.  Sect._iii.  Chap.  iii. 


JUSTICE.  333 

none  which,  when  properly  regulated,  is  subservient  to 
more  valuable  purposes.  It  is,  at  the  same  time,  a  prin- 
ciple which  it  is  perhaps  as  difficult  to  restrain  within 
the  bounds  of  moderation  as  any  other.  In  some  ungov- 
erned  minds,  it  seems  to  get  the  better  of  every  other 
principle  of  action,  and  must  be  a  source  to  the  possessor 
of  perpetual  mortification  and  disgust,  by  leading  him  to 
aspire  at  eminence  in  every  different  line  of  ambition,  and 
to  repine  if  in  any  one  of  them  he  is  surpassed  by  others. 
In  the  midst  of  the  astonishing  projects  which  employed 
the  sublime  genius  of  Richelieu,  his  peace  of  mind  was 
completely  ruined  by  the  success  of  the  Cid  of  Corneille. 
The  first  appearance  of  this  tragedy  (according  to  Fon- 
tenelle)  alarmed  the  Cardinal  as  much  as  if  he  had  seen 
the  Spaniards  at  the  gates  of  Paris  ;  and  the  most  accept- 
able flattery  which  his  minions  could  offer,  was  to  advise 
him  to  eclipse  the  fame  of  Corneille  by  a  tragedy  of  his 
own.  Nor  did  he  aim  merely  at  adding  the  fame  of  a 
poet  to  that  of  a  statesman.  Mortified  to  think  that  any 
one  path  of  ambition  was  shut  against  him,  he  is  said, 
when  on  his  death-bed,  to  have  held  some  conversations 
with  his  confessor  about  the  possibility  of  his  being  canon- 
ized as  a  saint. 

In  order  to  restrain  this  violent  and  insatiable  desire 
within  certain  bounds,  there  are  many  checks  appointed  in 
our  constitution.  In  the  first  place,  it  can  be  completely 
gratified  only  by  the  actual  possession  of  those  qualities 
for  which  we  wish  to  be  esteemed,  and  of  those  advan- 
tages which  are  the  proper  grounds  of  distinction.  A  good 
man  is  never  more  mortified  than  when  he  is  praised  for 
qualities  he  does  not  possess,  or  for  advantages  in  which 
he  is  conscious  he  has  no  merit.  Secondly,  although  the 
gratification  of  this  principle  consists  in  a  certain  superi- 
ority over  other  men,  we  feel  that  we  are  not  entitled  to 
take  undue  advantages  of  them.  We  may  exert  ourselves 
to  the  utmost  in  the  race  of  glory,  but  we  are  not  entitled 
to  obstruct  the  progress  of  others,  or  to  detract  from  their 
reputation  in  order  to  advance  our  own.  All  this  will  be 
readily  granted  in  general ;  and  yet  in  practice  there  is 
surely  nothing  more  difficult  than  to  draw  the  line  between 
emulation  and  envy,  or  to  check  that  self-partiality  which, 


334  DUTIES   TO   OUR   FELLOW-MEN. 

while  it  leads  us  to  dwell  on  our  own  advantages,  and  to 
magnify  them  in  our  own  estimation,  prevents  us  either 
from  attending  sufficiently  to  the  merits  of  others,  or  from 
viewing  them  in  the  most  favorable  light.  Of  this  diffi- 
culty a  wise  and  good  man  will  soon  be  satisfied  from  his 
own  experience,  and  he  will  endeavour  to  guard  against  it 
as  far  as  he  is  able,  by  judging  of  the  merits  of  a  rival, 
or  even  of  an  enemy,  as  he  would  have  done  if  there  had 
been  no  interference  between  them.  He  will  endeavour, 
in  short,  to  do  justice  to  their  merits,  not  merely  in  words, 
but  in  sincerity,  and  bring  himself,  if  possible,  to  love  and 
to  honor  that  genius  and  ability  which  have  eclipsed  his 
own.  Nor  will  he  retire  in  disgust  from  the  race  because 
he  has  been  outstripped  by  others,  but  will  redouble  all 
his  exertions  in  the  service  of  mankind  ;  recollecting,  that, 
if  Nature  has  been  more  partial  to  others  in  her  intellectual 
gifts  than  to  him,  she  has  left  open  to  all  the  theatre  of 
virtue,  where  the  merits  of  individuals  are  determined,  not 
by  their  actual  attainments,  but  by  the  use  and  improve- 
ment they  make  of  those  advantages  which  their  situation 
has  afforded  them. 

2.  Candor  in  judging  of  the  intentions  of  others.  I  have 
before  mentioned  several  considerations  which  render  it 
highly  probable  that  there  is  much  less  vice  or  criminal  in- 
tention in  the  world  than  is  commonly  imagined,  and  that 
the  greater  part  of  the  disputes  among  mankind  arise  from 
mutual  mistake  and  misapprehension.  Every  man  must 
recollect  many  instances  in  which  his  own  motives  have 
been  grossly  misapprehended  by  the  world  ;  and  it  is  but 
reasonable  for  him  to  conclude  that  the  case  may  have  been 
the  same  with  other  men.  It  is  but  an  instance,  then,  of 
that  justice  we  owe  to  others,  to  make  the  most  candid  al- 
lowances for  their  apparent  deviations,  and  to  give  every 
action  the  most  favorable  construction  it  can  possibly  ad- 
mit of.  Such  a  temper,  while  it  renders  a  man  respecta- 
ble and  amiable  in  society,  contributes  perhaps  more  than 
any  other  circumstance  to  his  private  happiness.  "  When 
you  would  cheer  your  heart,"  says  Marcus  Antoninus, 
"consider  the  excellences  and  abilities  of  your  several 
acquaintance  ;  the  activity  of  one,  the  high  sense  of  honor 
and  modesty  of  another,  the  liberality  of  a  third,  and 


JUSTICE.  335 

in  other  persons  some  other  virtue.  There  is  nothing 
so  delightful  as  virtue  appearing  in  the  conduct  of  your 
contemporaries  as  frequently  as  possible.  Such  thoughts 
we  should  still  retain  with  us."  * 

3.  Perhaps  there  is  no  temper  which  so  completely  dis- 
qualifies us  for  the  search  of  truth  as  that  which  we  ex- 
perience when  provoked  by  controversy  or  dispute.  Some 
men  undoubtedly  are  more  misled  by  it  than  others  ;  but 
I  apprehend  there  is  no  one,  however  modest  and  unas- 
suming, who  will  not  own  that,  upon  such  occasions,  he 
has  almost  always  felt  his  judgment  warped,  and  a  desire 
of  victory  mingle  itself,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  with  his 
love  of  truth.  Hence  the  aversion  which  all  such  men 
feel  for  controversy,  — convinced  from  experience  how  like- 
ly it  would  be  to  betray  themselves  into  error,  and  unwill- 
ing to  afford  an  opportunity  for  displaying  the  envious  and 
malignant  passions  of  others.  This  amiable  disposition 
has  been  often  mentioned  by  the  friends  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  as  one  of  the  most  marked  features  in  his  charac- 
ter ;  and  we  are  even  told  that  it  led  him  to  suppress,  for  a 
course  of  years,  some  of  his  most  important  discoveries, 
which  he  knew  from  their  nature  were  likely  to  provoke 
opposition.  "  He  was  indeed,"  says  one  of  his  biogra- 
phers, "  of  so  meek  and  gentle  a  disposition,  and  so  great 
a  lover  of  peace,  that  he  would  have  rather  chosen  to  re- 
main in  obscurity  than  to  have  the  calm  of  life  ruffled  by 
those  storms  and  disputes  which  genius  and  learning  always 
draw  upon  those  who  are  most  eminent  for  them.  From 
his  love  of  peace  arose,  no  doubt,  that  unusual  kind  of 
horror  which  he  felt  for  all  disputes.  Steady,  unbroken 
attention,  free  from  those  frequent  recoilings  incident  to 
others,  was  his  peculiar  felicity.  He  knew  it,  and  he  knew 
the  value  of  it.  When  some  objections,  hastily  made  to 
his  discoveries  concerning  light  and  colors,  induced  him  to 
lay  aside  the  design  he  had  taken  of  publishing  his  Optical 
Lectures,  we  find  him  reflecting  on  that  dispute,  into 
which  he  had  unavoidably  been  drawn,  in  these  terms  :  — 
'  I  blamed  my  own  imprudence  for  parting  with  so  real  a 
blessing  as  my  quiet,  to  run  after  a  shadow.'  In  the  same 

*  Book  VI.  c.  48. 


336  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

temper,  after  he  had  sent  the  manuscript  to  the  Royal  So- 
ciety, with  his  consent  to  the  printing  of  it,  upon  Hook's 
injuriously  insisting  that  he  had  himself  solved  Kepler's 
problem  before  our  author,  he  determined,  rather  than  be 
involved  again  in  a  controversy,  to  suppress  the  third 
book  ;  and  he  was  very  hardly  prevailed  on  to  alter  that 
resolution."  * 

I  shall  only  add  further  on  this  head,  that  a  love  of  con- 
troversy indicates,  not  only  an  Overweening  vanity  and  a 
disregard  for  truth,  but  in  general,  perhaps  always,  it  indi- 
cates a  mediocrity  of  genius  ;  for  it  arises  from  those  feel- 
ings of  envy  and  jealousy  which  provoke  little  minds  to 
depreciate  the  merit  of  useful  discoveries.  He  who  is 
conscious  of  his  own  inventive  powers,  and  whose  great 
object  is  to  add  to  the  stock  of  human  knowledge,  will 
reject  unwillingly  any  plausible  doctrine  till  after  the  most 
severe  examination,  and  will  separate,  with  patience  and 
temper,  the  truths  it  contains  from  the  errors  that  are 
blended  with  them.  No  opinion  can  be  more  groundless 
than  that  a  captious  and  disputatious  temper  is  a  mark  of 
acuteness.  On  the  contrary,  a  sound  and  manly  under- 
standing is  in  no  instance  more  strongly  displayed  than  in 
a  quick  perception  of  important  truth,  when  imperfectly 
stated  and  blended  with  error  ;  —  a  perception  which  may 
not  be  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  judgment  completely  at  the 
time,  or  at  least  to  obviate  the  difficulties  of  others,  but 
which  is  sufficient  to  prevent  it  from  a  hasty  rejection  of 
the  whole  from  the  obvious  defects  of  some  of  the  parts. 
Hence  the  important  hints  which  an  author  of  genius  col- 
lects among  the  rubbish  of  his  predecessors  ;  and  which, 
so  far  from  detracting  from  his  own  originality,  place  it  in 
the  strongest  possible  light,  by  showing  that  an  idea  which 
was  already  current  in  the  world,  and  which  had  hitherto 
remained  barren  and  useless,  may,  in  the  mind  of  a  phi- 
losopher, become  the  germ  of  an  extensive  system. 

I  cannot  help  taking  this  opportunity  of  remarking,  (al- 
though the  observation  is  not  much  connected  with  the 
subject  in  which  we  are  engaged,)  that  something  similar  to 
this  may  be  applied  to  our  critical  judgments  in  the  fine 

*  Hutton's  Mathematical  Dictionary,  Art.  Newton  (Sir  Isaac). 


JUSTICE.  337 

arts.  It  is  easy  to  perceive  blemishes,  but  it  is  the  prov- 
ince of  genius  alone  to  have  a  quick  perception  of  beauties, 
and  to  be  eager  to  applaud  them.  And  it  is  owing  to  this, 
that,  of  all  critics,  a  dunce  is  the  severest,  and  a  man  of 
genuine  taste  the  most  indulgent. 

III.  The  Duty  of  Honesty  ;  or  Justice  in  respect  to  th& 
Interests  and  Rights  of  other  Men.]  The  foregoing  illus- 
trations are  stated  at  some  length,  in  order  to  correct 
those  partial  definitions  of  justice  which  restrict  its  prov- 
ince to  a  rigorous  observance  of  the  rules  of  integrity  or 
honesty  in  our  dealings  with  our  fellow-creatures.  So  far 
as  this  last  disposition  proceeds  from  a  sense  of  duty,  un- 
influenced by  human  laws,  it  coincides  exactly  with  that 
branch  of  virtue  which  has  been  now  described  under  the 
title  of  candor. 

In  the  instances  hitherto  mentioned,  the  disposition  of 
justice  has  been  supposed  to  operate  in  restraining  the  par- 
tialities of  the  temper  and  passions.  There  are,  however, 
no  instances  in  which  its  influence  is  more  necessary  than 
where  our  interest  is  concerned  ;  or,  to  express  myself 
more  explicitly,  where  there  is  an  apparent  interference 
between  our  rights  and  those  of  other  men.  In  such 
cases,  a  disposition  to  observe  the  rules  of  justice  is  called 
integrity  or  honesty,  —  which  is  so  important  a  branch  of 
justice  that  it  has,  in  a  great  measure,  appropriated  the 
name  to  itself.  The  observations  made  by  Mr.  Hume 
and  Mr.  Smith,  on  the  differences  between  justice  and  the 
other  virtues,  apply  only  to  this  last  branch  of  it ;  and  it  is 
this  branch  which  properly  forms  the  subject  of  that  part 
of  ethics  which  is  called  natural  jurisprudence.*  In  what 
remains  of  this  chapter,  when  the  word  justice  occurs,  it 
is  to  be  understood  in  the  limited  sense  now  mentioned. 

The  circumstances  which  distinguish  this  kind  of  justice 
from  the  other  virtues  are  chiefly  two.  In  the  first  place, 
its  rules  may  be  laid  down  with  a  degree  of  accuracy  of 
which  moral  precepts  do  not  in  any  other  instance  admit. 
Secondly,  its  rules  may  be  enforced,  inasmuch  as  every 
breach  of  them  violates  the  rights  of  some  other  person, 

*  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  VII.  Sect.  vi. 

29 


338  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

and  entitles  him  to  employ  force  for  his  defence  or  se- 
curity. 

Another  distinction  between  justice  and  the  other  vir- 
tues is  much  insisted  on  by  Mr.  Hume.  It  is,  according 
to  him,  an  artificial  and  not  a  natural  virtue,  and  derives 
all  its  obligations  from  the  political  union,  and  from  con- 
siderations of  utility.  The  principal  argument  alleged  in 
support  of  this  proposition  is,  that  there  is  no  implanted 
principle,  prompting  us  by  a  blind  impulse  to  the  exercise 
of  justice,  similar  to  those  affections  which  conspire  with 
and  strengthen  our  benevolent  dispositions.  But,  granting 
the  fact  upon  which  this  argument  proceeds,  nothing  can 
be  inferred  from  it  that  makes  an  essential  distinction  be- 
tween the  obligations  of  justice  and  of  beneficence  ;  for,  so 
far  as  we  act  merely  from  the  blind  impulse  of  an  affection, 
our  conduct  cannot  be  considered  as  virtuous.  Our  affec- 
tions were  given  us  to  arrest  our  attention  to  particular  ob- 
jects, whose  happiness  is  connected  with  our  exertions, 
and  to  excite  and  support  the  activity  of  the  mind,  when  a 
sense  of  duty  might  be  insufficient  for  the  purpose  ;  but 
the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  our  conduct  depends,  in  no 
instance,  on  the  strength  or  weakness  of  the  affection,  but 
on  our  obeying  or  disobeying  the  dictates  of  reason  and  of 
conscience.  These  inform  us,  in  language  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  mistake,  that  it  is  sometimes  a  duty  to  check 
the  most  amiable  and  pleasing  emotions  of  the  heart ;  — 
to  withdraw,  for  example,  from  the  sight  of  those  distresses 
which  stronger  claims  forbid  us  to  relieve,  and  to  deny 
ourselves  that  exquisite  luxury  which  arises  from  the  ex- 
ercise of  humanity.  So  far,  therefore,  as  benevolence  is 
a  virtue,  it  is  precisely  on  the  same  footing  with  justice  ; 
that  is,  we  approve  of  it,  not  because  it  is  agreeable  to  us, 
but  because  we  feel  it  to  be  a  duty. 

It  may  be  further  remarked,  that  there  are  very  strong 
implanted  principles  which  serve  as  checks  on  injustice  ; 
the  principles,  to  wit,  of  resentment  and  of  indignation, 
which  are  surely  as  much  a  part  of  the  human  constitution 
as  pity  or  parental  affection.  These  principles  imply  a 
sense  of  injustice,  and  consequently  of  justice. 

In  the  case  of  justice,  also,  there  is  always  a  right  on 
one  hand  corresponding  to  an  obligation  on  the  other.  If 


JUSTICE.  339 

I  am  under  an  obligation,  for  example,  to  abstain  from 
violating  the  property  of  my  neighbour,  he  has  a  right  to 
defend  by  force  his  property  when  invaded.  It  therefore 
appears  that  the  rules  of  justice  may  be  laid  down  in  two 
different  forms,  either  as  a  system  of  duties  or  as  a  sys- 
tem of  rights.  The  former  view  of  the  subject  belongs 
properly  to  the  moralist,  the  latter  to  the  lawyer.  It  is  in 
this  last  form,  accordingly,  that  the  principles  of  justice 
have  been  stated  by  the  writers  on  natural  jurisprudence. 

So  far  there  is  nothing  to  be  reprehended  in  the  plan 
they  have  followed.  On  the  contrary,  a  considerable  ad- 
vantage was  gained  in  point  of  method  by  adopting  that 
very  comprehensive  and  accurate  division  of  our  rights 
which  the  civilians  had  introduced.  As  the  whole  object 
of  law  is  to  protect  men  in  all  that  they  may  lawfully  do, 
or  possess,  or  demand,  civilians  have  defined  the  word  jus, 
or  right,  to  be  facultas  aliquid  agcndi,  vel  possidendi,  vel 
ab  alio  consequendi,  —  a  lawful  claim  to  do  any  thing,  to 
possess  any  thing,  or  to  demand  something  from  some 
other  person.  The  first  of  these  may  be  called  the  right 
of  liberty,  or  the  right  of  employing  the  powers  we  have 
received  from  nature  in  every  case  in  which  we  do  not 
injure  the  rights  of  others  ;  the  second,  the  right  of  prop- 
erty ;  the  third,  the  rights  arising  from  contract.  The 
last  two  were  further  distinguished  from  each  other  by 
calling  the  former  (to  wit,  the  right  of  property)  a  real 
right,  and  the  latter  (to  wit,  the  rights  arising  from  contract) 
personal  rights,  because  they  respect  some  particular  per- 
son or  persons  from  whom  the  fulfilment  of  the  contract 
may  be  required. 

This  division  of  our  rights  appears  to  be  comprehensive 
and  philosophical,  and  it  affords  a  convenient  arrangement 
for  exhibiting  an  indirect  view  of  the  different  duties  which 
justice  prescribes.  "  What  I  have  a  right  to  do  it  is  the 
duty  of  my  fellow-creatures  to  allow  me  to  do,  without  mo- 
lestation. What  is  my  property  no  man  ought  to  take 
from  me,  or  to  disturb  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  it.  And 
what  I  have  a  right  to  demand  of  any  man  it  is  his  duty  to 
perform."*  Such  a  system,  therefore,  with  respect  to 

*  Reid,  On  the  Active  Powers,  Essay  V.  Chap.  iii. 


340  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

our  rights,  exhibits  (though  in  a  manner  somewhat  indirect 
and  artificial)  a  system  of  the  rules  of  justice. 

SECTION  III. 

OF    THE    RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY. 

I.  The  Right  of  Property.}  The  following  observations 
on  the  right  of  property  are  introduced  here  chiefly  with 
a  view  to  show  that  men  possess  rights  antecedent  to  the, 
establishment  of  the  political  union. 

It  cannot,  I  apprehend,  be  doubted,  that,  according  to 
the  notions  to  which  we,  in  the  present  state  of  society, 
are  habituated  from  our  infancy,  the  three  following  things 
are  included  in  the  idea  of  property. 

1.  A  right  of  exclusive  enjoyment. 

2.  A  right  of  inquiry  after  our  property,  when  taken 
away  without  our  consent,  and  of  reclaiming  it  wherever 
found. 

3.  A  right  of  transference. 

We  do  not  consider  our  property  in  any  object  to  be 
complete,  unless  we  can  exercise  all  these  three  rights 
with  respect  to  it. 

Lord  Kames  endeavours  to  show  that  these  ideas  are 
not  agreeable  to  the  apprehensions  of  the  human  mind  in 
the  ruder  periods  of  society,  but  imply  a  refinement  and 
abstraction  of  thought  which  are  the  result  of  improve- 
ment in  law  and  government.  The  relation  (in  particular) 
of  property,  independent  of  possession,  he  thinks  of  too 
metaphysical  a  nature  for  the  mind  of  a  savage.  "  It  ap- 
pears to  me,"  says  he,  "  to  be  highly  probable,  that,  among 
savages  involved  in  objects  of  sense,  and  strangers  to  ab- 
stract speculation,  property,  and  the  rights  or  moral  pow- 
ers arising  from  it,  never  are  with  accuracy  distinguished 
from  the  natural  powers  that  must  be  exerted  upon  the  sub- 
ject to  make  it  profitable  to  the  possessor.  The  man  who 
kills  and  eats,  who  sows  and  reaps,  at  his  own  pleasure, 
independent  of  anoiher's  will,  is  naturally  deemed  proprie- 
tor. The  grossest  savages  understand  power  without  right, 
of  which  they  are  made  sensible  by  daily  acts  of  violence  ; 
but  property  without  possession  is  a  conception  too  ab- 


RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY.  341 

stract  for  a  savage, or  for  any  person  who  has  not  studied 
the  principles  of  law."  * 

With  this  remark  I  cannot  agree*  ;  because  I  think  the 
right  of  property  is  founded  on  a  natural  sentiment,  which 
must  be  felt  in  full  force  in  the  lowest  state  of  society. 
The  sentiment  I  allude  to  is  that  of  a  moral  connection 
between  labor  and  a  right  of  exclusive  enjoyment  to  the 
fruits  of  it.  This  connection  it  will  be  proper  to  illustrate 
more  particularly. 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  a  country  so  fertile  as  to  produce 
all  the  necessaries  and  accommodations  of  life  without  any 
exertions  of  human  industry  ;  it  is  manifest,  that,  in  such  a 
state  of  things,  no  man  would  think  of  appropriating  to  him- 
self any  of  these  necessaries  or  accommodations,  any  more 
than  we  in  this  part  of  the  globe  think  of  appropriating  air 
or  water.  As  this,  however,  is  not,  in  any  part  of  the 
earth,  the  condition  of  man,  doomed  as  he  is,  by  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  birth,  to  eat  his  bread  in  the  sweat  of 
his  brow,  it  would  be  reasonable  to  expect,  a  priori,  that 
Nature  would  make  some  provision  for  securing  to  indi- 
viduals the  fruits  of  their  industry.  In  fact,  she  has  made 
such  a  provision  in  the  natural  sentiments  of  mankind, 
which  lead  them  to  consider  industry  as  entitled  to  reward, 
and,  in  particular,  the  laborer  as  entitled  to  the  fruit  of  his 
own  labor.  These,  I  think,  may  be  fairly  stated  as  moral 
axioms,  to  which  the  mind  yields  its  assent  as  immedi- 
ately and  necessarily  as  it  does  to  any  axiom  in  mathe- 
matics or  metaphysics. 

How  cruel  is  the  mortification  we  feel  when  we  see  an 
industrious  man  reduced  by  some  unforeseen  misfortune  to 
beggary  in  old  age  !  We  can  scarcely  help  complaining 
of  the  precarious  condition  of  humanity,  and  that  man 
should  be  thus  doomed  to  be  the  sport  of  accident ;  and 
we  feel  ourselves  called  on,  as  far  as  we  are  able,  to  re- 
pair, by  our  own  liberality,  this  unjust  distribution  of  the 
goods  of  fortune.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult  to 
avoid  some  degree  of  dissatisfaction  when  we  see  the 
natural  and  deserved  reward  of  industry  acquired  all  at 
once  by  a  prize  in  the  lottery  or  by  gaming,  although  in  this 

*  Historical.  Lam  Tracts,  Tract  III. 
29* 


342  DUTIES    TO    OUU    FELLOW-MEN. 

instance  the  uneasiness  (as  might  be  expected  from  the 
natural  benevolence  to  the  human  rnind)  is  trifling  in  com- 
parison to  what  it  is  in  the  other  case.  Our  dissatisfac- 
tion in  particular  instances  is  much  greater  when  we  see 
the  laborer  deprived  by  accident  of  the  immediate  fruit  of 
his  own  labor  ; —  when,  for  example,  he  has  nearly  com- 
pleted a  complicated  machine,  and  some  delicate  part  of 
it  gives  way,  and  renders  all  his  toil  useless. 

Jf  another  person  interferes  with  the  fruit  of  his  indus- 
try, our  dissatisfaction  and  indignation  are  still  more  in- 
creased. We  feel  here  a  variety  of  sentiments.  1.  A 
dissatisfaction  that  the  laborer  does  not  enjoy  that  reward 
to  which  his  industry  entitled  him.  2.  A  dissatisfaction 
that  another  person,  who  did  not  labor,  should  acquire  the 
possession  of  an  object  of  value.  And  3.  An  indig- 
nation against  the  man  who  deprived  the  laborer  of  his 
just  reward. 

This  sentiment,  that  "  the  laborer  deserves  the  fruit  of 
his  own  labor,"  is  the  chief,  or  rather  (abstracting  posi- 
tive institution,)  the  only  foundation  of  the  sense  of  prop- 
erty. An  attempt  to  deprive  him  of  it  is  a  species  of 
injustice  which  rouses  the  indignation  of  every  impartial 
spectator  ;  and  so  deeply  are  these  principles  implanted  in 
our  nature,  that  we  cannot  help  feeling  some  degree  of 
remorse  when  we  deprive  even  a  hive  of  bees  of  that  pro- 
vision which  they  had  industriously  collected  for  their  own 
use. 

The  writers,  indeed,  on  natural  law  ascribe  in  general 
the  origin  of  property  to  priority  of  occupancy,  and  have 
puzzled  themselves  in  attempting  to  explain  how  this  act 
should  appropriate  to  an  individual  what  was  formerly  in 
common.  Grotius  and  PufFendorff  insist  that  this  right  of 
occupancy  is  founded  upon  a  tacit  but  understood  assent 
of  all  mankind,  that  the  first  occupant  should  become  the 
owner.  And  Barbeyrac,  Locke,  and  others,  that  the 
very  act  of  occupancy  alone,  being  a  degree  of  bodily 
labor,  is,  from  a  principle  of  natural  justice,  without  any 
compact,  a  sufficient  foundation  of  property.  Blackstone, 
although  he  thinks  that  the  dispute  about  the  manner  in 
which  occupancy  conveys  a  right  of  property  savours 
too  much  of  scholastic  refinement,  expresses  no  doubt 


RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY.  343 

about  its  having  this  effect  independent  of  positive  institu- 
tions.* 

Some  later  philosophers  have  founded  the  right  of  prop- 
erty on  the  general  sympathy  of  mankind  with  the  rea- 
sonable expectation  which  the  occupant  has  formed  of  en- 
joying unmolested  the  object  he  has  got  possession  of,  or 
of  which  he  was  the  first  discoverer  ;  and  on  the  indigna- 
tion felt  by  the  impartial  spectator  when  he  sees  this  rea- 
sonable expectation  disappointed.  This  theory  (which  I 
have  been  assured  from  the  best  authority  was  adopted  by 
Mr.  Smith  in  his  lectures  on  jurisprudence)  seems  to  have 
been  suggested  by  a  passage  in  Dr.  Hutcheson's  Moral 
Philosophy,  in  which  he  says,  that  "it  is  immoral,  when 
we  can  support  ourselves  otherwise,  to  defeat  any  inno- 
cent design  of  another  ;  and  that  on  this  immorality  is 
founded  the  regard  we  owe  to  the  claims  of  the  first  occu- 
pant." In  this  theory,  too,  it  is  taken  for  granted  that 
priority  of  occupancy  founds  a  right  of  property,  and  that 
such  a  right  may  even  be  acquired  by  having  accidentally 
seen  a  valuable  object  before  it  was  observed  by  any  other 
person. 

In  order  to  think  with  accuracy  on  this  subject,  it  is 
necessary  to  distinguish  carefully  the  complete  right  of 
property  which  is  founded  on  labor,  from  the  transient 
right  of  possession  which  is  acquired  by  mere  priority  of 
occupancy.  Thus,  before  the  appropriation  of  land,  if 
any  individual  had  occupied  a  particular  spot  for  repose 
or  shade,  it  would  have  been  unjust  to  deprive  him  of  the 
possession  of  it.  This,  however,  was  only  a  transient 
right.  The  spot  of  ground  would  again  become  common 
the  moment  the  occupier  had  left  it ;  that  is,  the  right  of 
possession  would  remain  no  longer  than  the  act  of  posses- 
sion. Cicero  illustrates  this  happily  by  the  similitude  of 
a  theatre.  "  Quemadmodum  theatrum,  cum  commune  sit, 
recte  tamen  dici  potest  ejus  esse  etim  locurn  quern  quisque 
occuparit."  f 

The  general  conclusions  which  I  deduce  from  the  fore- 
going observations  are  these  :  — 

*  See  his  Commentaries,  Book  II.  Chap.  i. 

t  De  Finibus,L\b.  III.  20.  "As  in  a  theatre  the  seats  are  all  for  com- 
mon use,  yet  every  man's  place  is  his  own  when  he  has  taken  it." 


344  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

1.  That,  in  every  state  of  society,  labor,  Wherever  it  is 
exerted,  is  understood  to  found  a  right  of  property. 

2.  That,  according  to  natural  law,  (in  the  sense  at  least 
in  which  that  phrase  is  commonly  employed  by  writers  on 
jurisprudence,)  labor  is  the  only  original  way  of  acquiring 
property. 

3.  That,    according   to   natural  law,  mere  occupancy 
founds  only  a  right  of  possession  ;  and  that,  wherever  it 
founds  a  complete  right  of  property,  it  owes  its  force  to 
positive  institutions.  u*~ 

•II.  Origin  and  History  of  Property.]  An  attention 
to  these  conclusions,  in  particular  to  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  transient  right  of  possession  founded  on  occu- 
pancy, and  the  permanent  right  of  property  founded  on 
labor,  will,  if  I  mistake  not,  clear  up  some  of  the  dif- 
ficulties which  involve  the  first  steps  in  the  history  of 
property,  according  to  the  view  of  the  subject  given  by 
Lord  Kames  ;  and  it  was  with  this  view  I  was  led  to  pre- 
mise these  general  principles  to  the  slight  historical  sketch 
I  am  now  to  offer. 

With  respect  to  that  system  which  refers  the  origin  of 
property  to  the  political  union  and  to  considerations  of 
utility,  it  seems  sufficient  to  observe,  that,  so  far  is  gov- 
ernment from  creating  this  right,  its  necessary  effect  is 
to  subject  it  to  certain  limitations.  Abstraction  made  of 
political  confederation,  every  man's  property  is  solely  at 
his  own  disposal.  He  is  supreme  judge  in  his  own  cause, 
and  may  defend  what  he  conceives  to  be  his  right  as  far 
as  his  power  reaches.  In  the  state  of  civil  society  his 
property  is  regulated  by  positive  laws,  and  he  must  ac- 
quiesce in  the  judgment  of  his  superiors  with  respect  to 
his  rights,  even  in  those  cases  where  he  feels  it  to  be 
unjust. 

From  the  passage  already  quoted  from  Kames,  it  ap- 
pears that  he  conceived  the  idea  of  property  without  pos- 
session to  be  of  too  abstract  and  metaphysical  a  nature  to 
be  apprehended  by  a  savage  ;  and  he  has  collected  a 
variety  of  facts  to  prove,  that,  according  to  the  common 
notions  of  mankind,  in  the  infancy  of  jurisprudence,  the 
right  of  property  is  understood  to  cease  the  moment  that 


RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY.  345 

possession  is  at  an  end.  But  on  a  more  attentive  exami- 
nation of  the  subject,  I  apprehend  it  will  be  found  that  the 
ideas  of  savages,  with  respect  to  property,  are  the  same 
with  ours  ;  that  mere  occupancy  without  labor  founds 
only  a  right  of  possession  ;  and  that  labor,  wherever  it  is 
employed,  founds  an  exclusive  and  permanent  right  to  the 
fruits  of  it.  Lord  Kames's  theory  has  obviously  been 
suggested  by  the  common  doctrine  with  respect  to  the 
right  of  property  being  founded  in  priority  of  occupancy, 
compared  with  the  acknowledged  fact,  that  among  rude 
nations  occupancy  does  not  establish  a  permanent  right. 
The  other  arguments  which  he  has  alleged  in  support  of 
his  opinion  will  be  found  to  be  equally  inconclusive. 

Before  I  proceed  to  the  consideration  of  these,  it  may 
be  proper  to  observe,  that  we  must  not  always  form  an 
idea  of  the  sentiments  of  men  from  the  defects  of  their 
laws.  The  existence,  indeed,  of  a  law  is  a  proof  of  the 
sentiments  which  men  felt  when  the  law  was  made  ;  but 
the  defects  of  a  law  are  not  always  proofs  that  men  did 
not  feel  that  there  were  disorders  in  the  state  of  society 
which  required  correction.  The  laws  of  a  country  may 
not  make  provision  for  reparation  to  the  original  proprietor 
in  the  case  of  theft ;  but  it  will  not  follow  from  this  that 
men  do  not  apprehend  the  original  proprietor  to  have  any 
right  when  his  property  has  been  stolen  from  him.  The 
application  of  this  general  remark  to  some  of  the  argu- 
ments I  am  now  to  consider  will,  I  hope,  be  so  obvious, 
as  to  render  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  point  it  out  par- 
ticularly. 

Among  these  arguments,  one  of  the  most  plausible  is 
founded  on  a  general  principle,  which  appears,  from  a 
variety  of  facts  quoted  by  Kames,  to  run  through  most 
rude  systems  of  jurisprudence,  that,  in  the  case  of  stolen 
goods,  the  claim  of  the  bona  fide  purchaser  is  preferable 
to  that  of  the  original  proprietor.  This  he  accounts  for 
from  the  imperfect  notions  they  have  of  the  metaphysical 
nature  of  property  when  separated  from  possession.  But 
if  this  were  the  case,  the  same  laws  should  support  the 
claim  of  the  thief  against  the  original  proprietor  :  or  rather, 
indeed,  neither  the  original  proprietor,  nor  any  one  else, 
could  conceive  that  he  had  any  connection  with  the  object 


346  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

stolen  the  moment  after  it  was  out  of  his  possession.  The 
fact  is,  that  this  respect  paid  to  the  bond  fide  purchaser  is 
a  proof,  not  of  any  misapprehension  with  respect  to  the 
idea  of  property,  but  of  a  weak  government  and  an  im- 
perfect police.  Where  thefts  are  easily  committed,  and 
where  no  public  fairs  or  markets  are  established,  it  would 
put  a  complete  end  to  all  transferences  of  property,  if  the 
bond  fide  purchaser  were  left  exposed  to  the  claims  of 
former  proprietors.  Such  a  practice  would  be  attended 
with  still  greater  inconveniences  than  arise  from  the  casual 
violations  of  property  by  theft  ;  not  to  mention  that  the 
regard  shown  to  the  bond  fide  purchaser  must  have  a  ten- 
dency to  repress  theft,  by  redoubling  the  attention  of  indi- 
viduals to  preserve  the  actual  possession  of  their  property. 
That  these  or  some  other  views  of  utility  were  the  real 
foundation  of  the  laws  quoted  by  Kames  is  confirmed  by 
an  old  regulation  in  our  own  country,  prohibiting  buying 
and  selling,  except  in  open  market,  —  a  regulation  which 
had  obviously  been  suggested  by  the  experience  of  the 
inconveniences  arising  from  the  latent  claims  of  former 
proprietors  against  bond  fide  purchasers. 

Another  argument  mentioned  by  Kames  in  support  of 
his  theory  is  founded  on  the  shortness  of  the  term  which 
completes  prescription  among  rude  nations  ;  a  single  year, 
for  example,  in  the  case  of  movables,  by  the  oldest  law 
of  the  Romans.  This  law,  he  says,  testifies  that  property, 
independent  of  possession,  was  considered  to  be  a  right  of 
the  slenderest  kind.  It  is  evident,  that,  upon  his  own  prin- 
ciples, it  should  not  in  that  state  of  society  have  been  con- 
sidered as  a  right  at  all.  If  it  was  conceived  to  subsist  a 
single  day  after  the  possession  was  at  an  end,  the  meta- 
physical difficulty  which  he  magnifies  so  much  was  obvi- 
ously surmounted.  In  every  society  it  will  be  found  ex- 
pedient to  fix  some  term  for  prescription,  and  the  particu- 
lar length  of  it  must  be  determined  by  the  circumstances 
of  the  society  at  the  time.  In  general,  as  law  improves, 
and  government  becomes  more  effectual,  a  greater  atten- 
tion to  the  stability  of  property,  and  consequently  a  longer 
term  for  prescription,  may  be  expected. 

The  community  of  goods,  which  is  said  to  take  place 
among  some  rude  nations,  will  be  found,  on  examination, 


RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY.  347 

to  be  perfectly  consistent  with  the  account  I  have  given  of 
their  ideas  on  the  subject  of  property.  Where  the  game 
is  taken  by  a  common  effort,  the  natural  sense  of  justice 
dictates  that  it  should  be  enjoyed  in  common.  And  in- 
deed, abstracting  all  considerations  of  justice,  the  ex- 
perience of  the  precarious  fortune  of  the  chase  would 
soon  suggest  to  the  common  sense  of  mankind  the  expe- 
diency of  such  an  arrangement.  This,  however,  does  not 
indicate  any  imperfection  in  their  idea  of  property  ;  for 
even  in  this  state  of  society  there  are  always  some  articles 
which  are  understood  to  be  the  exclusive  property  of  the 
individual,  such  as  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  the  instru- 
ments he  employs  in  fishing. 

I  am  confirmed  in  these  conclusions  by  the  account 
given  by  Dr.  Robertson  of  the  American  Indians  ;  and  the 
more  so,  as  the  facts  he  mentions,  and  even  his  reason- 
ings, stand  in  opposition  to  his  own  preconceived  opinion. 
"JVc/fions,"  he  says  expressly,  "  ichich  depend  upon  hunt- 
ing are,  strangers  to  the  idea  of  property  ";  and  yet,  when 
he  comes  to  explain  himself,  it  appears  that,  even  in  the 
present  age  of  metaphysical  refinement,  if  our  physical 
circumstances  were  the  same,  we  should  feel  and  judge 
exactly  as  they  do.  "  As  the  animals,"  he  continues,  in 
the  passage  immediately  following  the  last  sentence  I 
quoted,  u  on  which  the  hunter  feeds  are  not  bred  under 
his  inspection,  nor  nourished  by  his  care,  he  can  claim  no 
right  to  them  while  they  run  wild  in  the  forest.  Where 
game  is  so  plentiful  that  it  can  be  caught  with  little 
trouble,  men  never  dream  of  appropriating  what  is  of 
small  value,  or  of  easy  acquisition.  Where  it  is  so  rare 
that  the  labor  or  danger  of  the  chase  requires  the  united 
efforts  of  a  tribe  or  village,  what  is  killed  is  a  common 
stock,  belonging  equally  to  all  who,  by  their  skill  or  their 
courage,  have  contributed  to  the  success  of  the  excursion. 
The  forest  or  hunting-grounds  are  deemed  the  property  of 
the  tribe,  from  which  it  has  a  title  to  exclude  every  rival 
nation.  But  no  individual  arrogates  a  right  to  any  district 
of  these  in  preference  to  his  fellow-citizens.  They  be- 
long equally  to  all,  and  thither,  as  to  a  general  and  undi- 
vided store,  all  repair  in  quest  of  sustenance.  The  same 
principles  by  which  they  regulate  their  chief  occupation 


348  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEW. 

extend  to  that  which  is  subordinate.  Even  agriculture 
has  not  introduced  among  them  a  complete  idea  of  prop- 
erty. As  the  men  hunt,  the  women  labor  together,  and 
after  they  have  shared  the  toils  of  the  seed-time,  they  en- 
joy the  harvest  in  common."  * 

In  the  notes  and  illustrations  at  the  end  of  his  History, 
Dr.  Robertson  seems  to  have  been  aware  that  he  had  ex- 
pressed himself  somewhat  too  strongly  on  this  subject, 
and  he  has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  intimate  his  suspicions 
that  the  common  facts  are  not  very  accurately  stated.  "  I 
strongly  suspect  that  a  community  of  goods,  and  an  undi- 
vided store,  are  known  only  among  the  rudest  tribes  of 
hunters,  and  that,  as  soon  as  any  species  of  agriculture  or 
regular  industry  is  known,  the  idea  of  an  exclusive  right 
of  property  to  the  fruits  of  them  is  introduced." 

In  support  of  this  opinion,  Dr.  Robertson  refers  to 
accounts  which  he  had  received  concerning  the  state  of 
property  among  the  Indians  in  very  different  regions  of 
America.  "  The  idea  of  the  natives  of  Brazil,"  says  the 
Chevalier  de  Pinto,  who  writes  on  this  subject  from  per- 
sonal observation,  "  concerning  property  is,  that,  if  any 
person  cultivate  a  field,  he  alone  ought  to  enjoy  the  prod- 
uce of  it,  and  no  other  has  a  title  to  pretend  to  it.  If 
an  individual  or  a  family  go  a  hunting  or  fishing,  what  is 
caught  belongs  to  the  individual  or  family,  and  they  com- 
municate no  part  of  it  but  to  their  Cazique,  and  such  of 
their  kindred  as  happen  to  be  indisposed. 

"  If  any  person  in  the  village  come  to  their  hut,  he  may 
sit  down  freely  and  eat  without  asking  liberty.  But  this 
is  the  consequence  of  their  general  principle  of  hospitality  ; 
for  I  never  observed  any  partition  of  the  increase  of  their 
fields,  or  the  produce  of  the  chase,  which  I  could  con- 
sider as  the  result  of  any  idea  concerning  the  community 
of  goods.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  so  much  attached  to 
what  they  deem  to  be  their  property,  that  it  would  be  ex- 
tremely dangerous  to  encroach  on  it.  As  far  as  I  have 
seen  or  can  learn,  there  is  not  one  tribe  of  Indians  in 
South  America  among  whom  that  community  of  goods, 
which  has  been  so  highly  extolled,  w  known.  The  cir- 

*  Hittvry  of  Amerie*,  Book  IV.  §  66. 


RIGHT    OF    PROPERTY.  349 

cumstance  in  the  government  of  the  Jesuits  most  irksome 
to  the  Indians  of  Paraguay  was  the  community  of  goods 
which  those  lathers  introduced.  This  was  repugnant  to 
the  original  ideas  of  the  Indians.  They  were  acquainted 
with  the  rights  of  private  exclusive  property,  and  they 
submitted  with  impatience  to  the  regulations  which  de- 
stroyed them." 

"Actual  possession,"  says  a  missionary  who  resided: 
several  years  among  the  Indians  of  the  Five  Nations,, 
"  gives  a  right  to  the  soil ;  but,  whenever  a  possessor  sees. 
fit  to  quit  it,  another  has  as  good  a  right  to  take  it  as  he 
who  left  it.  This  law  or  custom  respects  not  only  the 
particular  spot  on  which  he  erects  his  house,  but  also  his* 
planting  ground.  If  a  man  has  prepared  a  particular  spot 
of  ground,  on  which  he  proposes  in  future  to  build  or 
plant,  no  man  has  a  right  to  incommode  him,  much  less  to 
the  fruit  of  his  labors,  until  it  appears  that  he  voluntarily 
gives  up  his  views.  But  I  never  heard  of  any  formal 
conveyance  from  one  Indian  to  another  in  their  natural 
state.  The  limits  of  every  canton  are  circumscribed,  that 
is,  they  are  allowed  to  hunt  as  far  as  such  a  river  on  this 
hand,  and  such  a  mountain  on  the  other.  This  area  is 
occupied  and  improved  by  individuals  and  their  families. 
Individuals,  not  the  community,  have  the  use  and  profit  of 
their  own  labors,  or  success  in  hunting." 

III.  Property,  when  rightfully  created  or  recognized  by 
Positive  Laws,  not  less  Sacred.]  It  must  not,  however, 
be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said,  that  in  a  civilized  so- 
ciety there  is  any  tiling  in  that  species  of  property  which 
is  acquired  by  labor  to  which  individuals  owe  a  more 
sacred  regard  than  they  do  to  every  other  species  of 
property  created  or  recognized  by  positive  laws.  Among 
these  last  there  are  many  which  have  derived  their  origin 
from  a  principle  no  less  obligatory  than  our  natural  sense 
of  justice,  a  clear  perception  in  the  mind  of  the  legislator 
(sanctioned  perhaps  by  the  concurrent  experience  of  dif- 
ferent ages  and  nations)  of  general  utility  ;  and  to  all  of 
them,  while  they  exist,  the  reverence  of  the  subject  is  due 
on  the  same  principle  which  binds  him  to  respect  and 
to  maintain  the  social  order.  Nature  has  provided  for 
30 


350  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

human  happiness,  in  this  instance,  in  a  manner  precisely 
analogous  to  her  general  economy.  Those  simple  and 
indispensable  rules  of  right  and  wrong,  of  just  and  unjust, 
without  which  the  fruits  of  the  earth  could  not  be  con- 
verted to  the  use  of  man,  nor  his  existence  maintained 
even  in  the  rudest  form  of  the  social  union,  she  has  en- 
graved on  the  heart  as  an  essential  part  of  the  human  con- 
stitution, —  leaving  men,  as  society  advances,  to  employ 
their  gradually  improving  reason  in  fixing,  according  to 
their  own  ideas  of  expediency,  the  various  regulations  con- 
cerning the  acquisition,  the  alienation  and  transmission  of 
property,  which  the  more  complicated  interests  of  the 
community  may  require. 

It  is  also  beautifully  ordered,  that,  while  a  regard  for 
legal  property  is  thus  secured,  among  men  capable  of  re- 
flection, by  a  sense  of  general  utility,  the  same  effect  is 
accomplished,  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude,  by  habit  and 
the  association  of  ideas  ;  in  consequence  of  which,  all  the 
inequalities  of  fortune  are  sanctioned  by  mere  prescription, 
and  long  possession  is  conceived  to  found  a  right  of  prop- 
erty as  complete  as  that  which,  by  the  law  of  nature,  an  in- 
dividual has  in  the  fruits  of  his  own  industry. 

In  such  a  state  of  things,  therefore,  as  that  with  which 
we  are  connected,  the  right  of  property  must  be  under- 
stood to  derive  its  origin  from  two  distinct  sources  :  the 
one  is  that  natural  sentiment  of  the  mind  which  establishes 
a  moral  connection  between  labor  and  an  exclusive  enjoy- 
ment of  the  fruits  of  it  ;  the  other  is  the  municipal  institu- 
tions of  the  country  where  we  live.  These  institutions 
everywhere  take  rise  partly  from  ideas  of  natural  justice, 
and  partly  (perhaps  chiefly)  from  ideas  of  supposed  utili- 
ty,—  two  principles  which,  when  properly  understood, 
are,  I  believe,  always  in  harmony  with  each  other,  and 
which  it  ought  to  be  the  great  aim  of  every  legislator  to 
reconcile  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  Among  those  ques- 
tions, however,  which  fall  under  the  cognizance  of  positive 
laws,  there  are  many  on  which  natural  justice  is  entirely 
silent,  and  which,  of  consequence,  may  be  discussed  on 
principles  of  utility  solely.  Such  are  most  of  the  ques- 
tions concerning  the  regulation  of  the  succession  to  a  man's 
property  after  his  death  ;  of  some  of  which  it  may  per- 


VERACITY.  351 

haps  be  found  that  the  determination  ought  to  vary  with 
the  circumstances  of  the  society,  and  which  have  cer- 
tainly, in  fact,  been  frequently  determined  by  the  caprice 
of  the  legislator,  or  by  some  principle  ultimately  resolva- 
ble into  an  accidental  association  of  ideas.  Indeed,  vari- 
ous cases  may  be  supposed,  in  which  it  is  not  only  useful, 
but  necessary,  that  a  rule  should  be  fixed  ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  neither  justice  nor  utility  seems  to  be  much  in- 
terested in  the  particular  decision. 

In  examining  the  questions  which  turn  on  considerations 
of  utility,  some  will  immediately  occur,  of  which  the  deter- 
mination is  so  obvious,  and  which,  at  the  same  time,  are  so 
universal  in  their  application,  that  the  laws  of  all  enlightened 
nations  on  the  subject  may  be  expected  to  be  the  same.  Of 
this  description  are  many  of  the  questions  which  may  be 
stated  with  respect  to  the  effects  of  priority  of  occupancy 
in  establishing  permanent  rights.  These  questions  are  of 
course  frequently  confounded  with  questions  of  natural 
law  ;  and  in  one  sense  of  that  phrase  they  may  not  improp- 
erly be  comprehended  under  the  title,  but  the  distinction 
between  them  and  the  other  class  of  questions  is  essential ; 
for  wherever  considerations  of  utility  are  involved,  the 
political  union  is  supposed,  whereas  the  principle  of  jus- 
tice, properly  so  called,  (of  that  justice,  for  example,  which 
respects  the  right  of  the  laborer  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  his 
own  industry,)  is  inseparable  from  the  human  frame.* 

. 
SECTION  IV. 

OF    VERACITY. 

I.  Importance  and  Foundation  of  Veracity.~\  The 
important  rank  which  veracity  holds  among  our  social 
duties  appears  from  the  obvious  consequences  that  would 
result  if  no  foundation  were  laid  for  it  in  the  constitution 
of  our  nature.  The  purposes  of  speech  would  be  frus- 
trated, and  every  man's  opportunities  of  knowledge  would 
be  limited  to  his  own  personal  experience. 

*  On  the  right  of  property  and  its  limitations,  see  Mill's  Principles  of 
Political  Economy,  Part  II.  Chap,  i.,  ii.  —  ED. 


352  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

Considerations  of  utility,  however,  do  not  seem  to  be 
the  only  ground  of  the  approbation  we  bestow  on  this  dis- 
position. Abstraction  made  of  all  regard  to  consequences, 
there  is  something  pleasing  and  amiable  in  sincerity,  open- 
ness, and  truth,  —  something  disagreeable  and  disgusting  in 
duplicity,  equivocation,  and  falsehood.  Dr.  Hutcheson 
himself,  the  great  patron  of  that  theory  which  resolves  all 
moral  qualities  into  benevolence,  confesses  this  ;  for  he 
speaks  of  a  sense  which  leads  us  to  approve  of  veracity, 
distinct  from  the  sense  which  approves  of  qualities  useful 
to  mankind.*  As  this,  however,  is  at  best  but  a  vague 
way  of  speaking,  it  may  be  proper  to  analyze  more  par- 
ticularly that  part  of  our  constitution  from  which  our  ap- 
probation of  veracity  arises. 

That  there  is  in  the  human  mind  a  natural  or  instinctive 
principle  of  veracity  has  been  remarked  by  many  authors, 
the  same  part  of  our  constitution  which  prompts  to  social 
intercourse  prompting  also  to  sincerity  in  our  mutual 
communications.  Truth  is  always  the  spontaneous  and 
native  expression  of  our  sentiments  ;  whereas  falsehood 
implies  a  certain  violence  done  to  our  nature,  in-  conse- 
quence of  the  influence  of  some  motive  which  we  are  anx- 
ious to  conceal. 

II.  Truth  and  the  Love  of  Truth.}  With  respect  to 
the  nature  of  truth  various  metaphysical  speculations  have 
been  offered  to  the  world,  and  various  de6nitions  have  been 
attempted,  both  by  the  ancients  and  moderns.  These, 
however,  have  thrown  but  little  light  on  the  subject,  which 
is  not  surprising,  when  we  consider  that  the  word  truth 
expresses  a  simple  idea  or  notion,  of  which  no  analysis  or 
explication  is  possible.  The  same  observation  may  be 
made  with  respect  to  the  words  knowledge  and  belief. 
All  of  them  express  notions  which  are  implied  in  every 
judgment  of  the  understanding,  and  which  no  being  can 
form  who  is  not  possessed  of  a  rational  nature.  And,  by 
the  way,  these  notions  deserve  to  be  added  to  the  list  for- 

*  Philosophic  Mirralis  Institutio  Comjiendiaria,  Lib.  II.  Capp.  ix.,  x. 

Aristotle  expresses  himself  nearly  to  the  same  purpose.  Ethir. 
Nicomach  ,  Lib.  IV.  Cap.  vii.  Various  passages  of  a  similar  import 
occur  in  Cicero. 


VERACITY.  353 

merly  mentioned,  as  exemplifications  of  the  imperfection 
of  the  account  commonly  given  of  the  origin  of  our  ideas. 
Thev  are  obviously  not  derived  from  any  particular  sense  ; 
and  they  do  not  seem  to  be  referable  to  any  part  of  our 
constitution,  but  to  the  understanding  ;  or,  in  other  words, 
to  those  rational  powers  which  distinguish  man  from  the 
brutes.  This  language,  I  know,  will  appear  to  be  very 
loose  and  inaccurate  to  those  who  have  familiarized  their 
minds  to  the  common  doctrine  ;  but  it  is  a  plain  and  in- 
disputable statement  of  the  fact. 

To  acquire  knowledge  or  to  discover  truth  is  the  prop- 
er object  of  curiosity  ;  —  a  principle  of  action  which  is 
coeval  with  the  first  operations  of  the  intellect,  and  which 
in  most  minds  continues  through  life  to  have  a  powerful 
influence,  in  one  way  or  another,  on  the  character  and  the 
conduct.  It  is  this  principle  which  puts  the  intellectual 
faculties  in  motion,  and  gives  them  that  exercise  which  is 
necessary  for  their  development  and  improvement  ;  and 
which,  according  to  the  direction  it  takes,  and  the  particu- 
lar set  of  faculties  it  exercises,  is  the  principal  foundation 
of  the  diversities  of  genius  among  men.  And  as  the  diver- 
sities of  genius  proceed  from  the  different  directions  in 
which  curiosity  engages  the  attention,  so  the  inequalities 
of  genius  among  individuals  may  be  traced  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  different  degrees  of  ardor  and  perseverance 
with  which  the  curiosity  operates.  When  I  say  this,  I 
would  not  be  understood  to  insinuate  that  the  different  ca- 
pacities of  individuals  are  the  same  ;  a  supposition  con- 
tradicted by  obvious  facts,  and  contrary  to  what  we  should 
be  led  to  conclude  from  the  analogy  of  the  body.  I  only 
wish  to  impress  on  all  those  who  have  any  connection  with 
the  education  of  youth  the  great  importance  of  stimulat- 
ing the  curiosity,  and  of  directing  it  to  proper  objects,  as 
the  most  effectual  of  all  means  for  securing  the  improve- 
ment of  the  mind  :  I  may  add,  as  one  of  the  most  ef- 
fectual provisions  that  can  be  made  for  the  happiness  of 
the  individual,  in  consequence  of  the  resources  it  furnishes 
when  we  are  left  to  depend  on  ourselves  for  enjoyment  ; 
and  in  consequence,  also,  of  the  progressive  vigor  with 
which  it  operates  to  the  very  close  of  life,  in  proportion 
30* 


354  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

to  the  enlargement  of  our  experience  and  the  extent  of  our 
information. 

In  order,  however,  to  prevent  misapprehensions  of  my 
meaning,  it  is  necessary  for  me  again  to  remark,  that  the 
curiosity  on  which  I  lay  so  great  a  stress  is  that  curiosity 
alone  which  has  truth  for  its  object.  "  There  are  many 
men,"  says  Butler,  "  who  have  a  strong  curiosity  to  know 
what  is  said,  who  have  no  curiosity  to  know  what  is  true  "  ; 
—  men  who  value  knowledge  only  as  furnishing  an  em- 
ployment to  their  memory,  or  as  supplying  a  gratification 
to  their  vanity  in  their  intercourse  with  others.  It  is  a 
weakness  which  we  may  presume  has  prevailed  more  or 
less  in  all  ages,  but  which  has  been  much  encouraged  in 
modern  Europe  by  that  superstitious  admiration  of  antiq- 
uity which  has  withdrawn  so  much  genius  and  industry 
from  the  pursuits  of  science  to  those  of  erudition.  No 
prejudice  can  be  conceived  more  adverse  to  the  progress 
of  useful  knowledge,  not  only  as  it  occasions  an  idle  waste 
of  time  and  labor  which  might  have  been  more  profitably 
employed,  but  as  it  contributes  powerfully  to  destroy  that 
simplicity  and  modesty  of  temper  which  are  the  genuine 
characteristics  of  the  true  philosopher. 

I  think  it  of  importance  to  add,  that  the  love  of  truth, 
where  it  is  the  great  motive  of  our  intellectual  pursuits, 
gains  daily  an  accession  of  strength  as  our  knowledge  ad- 
vances. I  have  already  said,  that  it  is  an  ultimate  fact  in 
our  nature,  and  is  not  resolvable  into  views  of  utility.  Its 
extensive  effects  on  human  happiness  are  discovered  only 
in  the  progress  of  our  experience  ;  but  when  this  dis- 
covery is  once  made,  it  superadds  to  our  instinctive  curi- 
osity every  stimulus  which  self-love  and  benevolence  can 
furnish.  The  connection  between  error  and  misery,  be- 
tween truth  and  happiness,  becomes  gradually  more  ap- 
parent as  our  inquiries  proceed,  and  produces  at  last  a 
complete  conviction,  that,  even  in  those  cases  where  we 
are  unable  to  trace  it,  the  connection  subsists.  He  who 
feels  this  as  he  ought  will  consider  a  steadfast  adherence 
to  the  truth  as  an  expression  of  benevolence  to  man,  and 
of  confidence  in  the  righteous  administration  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  will  suspect  the  purity  of  those  motives  which 


VERACITY.  355 

would  lead  him  to  advance  the  good  of  his  species,  or  the 
glory  of  his  Maker,  by  deceit  and  hypocrisy. 

III.  Means  of  inculcating  and  enforcing  the  Duty  of 
Veracity.]  In  offering  these  remarks,  I  shall  no  doubt  be 
thought  to  have  taken  a  very  wide  circuit  in  order  to  illus- 
trate the  nature  of  that  veracity  which  is  incumbent  on  us 
in  our  intercourse  with  our  fellow-creatures.  But  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  the  most  solid  of  all  foundations  for  the 
uniform  and  the  scrupulous  exercise  of  this  virtue  is  to 
cherish  the  love  of  truth  in  general,  and  to  impress  the 
mind  with  a  conviction  of  its  important  effects  on  our  own 
happiness  and  on  that  of  society.  There  is,  indeed,  a  sort 
of  gross  and  ostensible  practice  of  this  duty,  which  is 
secured  by  what  we  call  the  point  of  honor  in  modern 
Europe,  which  brands  with  infamy  every  palpable  devia- 
tion from  the  truth  in  matters  of  fact .  The  law  of  honor 
here  operates  in  the  case  of  veracity,  in  some  measure,  as 
the  law  of  the  magistrate  operates  in  the  case  of  justice. 
But  as  in  the  latter  case  a  man  may  be  unjust  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  of  his  own  conscience  without  transgressing 
the  letter  of  any  statute,  so,  in  the  former,  without  forfeit- 
ing his  character  as  a  gentleman,  he  may  often  incur  all 
the  guilt  of  a  liar  and  an  impostor.  Is  it,  in  a  moral  view, 
more  criminal  to  misrepresent  a  fact,  than  to  impose  on 
the  world  by  what  we  know  to  be  an  unsound  or  a  falla- 
cious argument  ?  Is  it,  in  a  moral  view,  more  criminal 
to  mislead  another  by  a  verbal  lie,  than  by  actions  which 
convey  a  false  idea  of  our  intentions  ?  Is  it,  in  a  moral 
view,  more  criminal,  or  is  it  more  inconsistent  with  the 
dignity  of  a  man  of  true  honor,  to  defraud  men  in  a  pri- 
vate transaction  by  an  incorrect  or  erroneous  statement  of 
circumstances,  than  to  mislead  the  public  to  their  own 
ruin  by  those  wilful  deviations  from  truth  into  which  we 
see  men  daily  led  by  views  of  interest  or  ambition,  or  by 
the  spirit  of  political  faction  ?  Numberless  cases,  in 
short,  may  be  fancied,  in  which  our  only  security  for  truth 
is  the  virtuous  disposition  of  the  individual,  and  where 
the  restraint  of  public  opinion  has  little  or  no  influence. 
Perhaps  I  should  not  go  too  far  were  I  to  affirm,  that,  as 
there  is  no  duty  of  which  the  gross  and  ostensible  prac- 


356  DUTIES    TO    OUR    FELLOW-MEN. 

tice  is  so  effectually  secured  by  the  manners  of  modern 
times,  so  there  is  none  to  the  obligation  of  which  man- 
kind seem  in  general  to  be  so  insensible,  considered  as 
moral  agents,  and  accountable  to  God  for  their  thoughts 
and  intentions. 

Among  the  various  causes  which  have  conspired  to  re- 
lax our  moral  principles  on  this  important  article,  the 
facility  which  the  press  affords  us  in  modern  times  of  ad- 
dressing the  world  by  means  of  anonymous  publications 
is  probably  one  of  the  most  powerful.  The  salutary  re- 
straint which  a  regard  to  character  imposes,  in  most  cases, 
on  our  moral  deviations,  is  here  withdrawn  ;  and  we  have 
no  security  for  the  fidelity  of  the  writer,  but  his  disinter- 
ested love  of  truth  and  of  mankind.  The  palpable  and 
ludicrous  misrepresentations  of  facts,  to  which  we  are 
accustomed  from  our  infancy  in  the  periodical  prints  of 
the  day,  gradually  unhinge  our  faith  in  all  such  communi- 
cations ;  and  what  we  are  every  day  accustomed  to  see, 
we  cease  in  time  to  regard  with  due  abhorrence.  Nor  is 
this  the  only  moral  evil  resulting  from  the  licentiousness  of 
the  press.  The  intentions  of  nature  in  appointing  public 
esteem  as  the  reward  of  virtue,  and  infamy  as  the  punish- 
ment of  vice,  are  in  a  great  measure  thwarted  ;  and  while 
the  fairest  characters  are  left  open  to  the  assaults  of  a 
calumny  which  it  is  impossible  to  trace  to  its  author,  the 
opinions  of  the  public  may  be  so  divided  by  the  artifices  of 
hireling  flatterers,  with  respect  to  men  of  the  most  profli- 
gate and  abandoned  lives,  as  to  enable  them,  not  only  to 
brave  the  censures  of  the  world,  but  to  retaliate  with  more 
than  an  equal  advantage  on  the  good  name  of  those  who 
have  the  rashness  to  accuse  them. 

tn  a  free  government  like  ours,  the  liberty  of  the  press 
has  been  often  and  justly  called  the  palladium  of  the  con- 
stitution ;  but  it  may  reasonably  be  doubted  whether  this 
liberty  would  be  at  all  impaired  by  a  regulation,  which, 
while  it  left  the  press  perfectly  open  to  every  man  who 
was  willing  openly  to  avow  his  opinions,  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  any  individual  to  publish  a  sentence  without 
the  sanction  of  his  name.  Upon  this  question,  however, 
considered  in  a  political  point  of  view,  I  shall  not  pre- 
sume to  decide.  Considered  in  a  moral  light,  the  advan- 


VERACITY.  357 

tages  of  such  a  regulation  appear  to  be  obvious  and  indis- 
putable, and  the  effect  could  scarcely  fail  to  have  a  most 
extensive  influence  on  national  manners.* 

Beside  that  love  of  truth  which  seems  evidently  to  be 
an  original  principle  of  the  mind,  there  are  other  laws  of 
our  nature  which  were  plainly  intended  to  secure  the  prac- 
tice of  veracity  in  our  intercourse  with  our  fellow-crea- 
tures. There  are  others,  too,  which,  as  they  suppose  the 
practice  of  this  virtue,  may  be  regarded  as  intimations  of 
that  conduct  which  is  conformable  to  the  end  and  destina- 
tion of  our  being.  Such  is  that  disposition  to  repose  faith 
in  testimony,  which  is  coeval  with  the  use  of  language. 
Without  such  a  disposition,  the  education  of  children 
would  be  impracticable  ;  and  accordingly,  so  far  from 
being  the  result  of  experience,  it  seems  to  be,  in  the  first 
instance,  unlimited,  —  nature  intrusting  its  gradual  correc- 
tion to  the  progress  of  reason  and  of  observation.  This 
remark,  which  I  think  was  first  made  by  Dr.  Reid,  has 
been  since  repeated  and  enforced  by  Mr.  Smith,  in  his 
Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments.  This  author  observes,  fur- 
ther, that,  "  notwithstanding  the  lessons  of  caution  commu- 
nicated to  us  by  experience,  there  is  scarcely  a  man  to  be 
found  who  is  not  more  credulous  than  he  ought  to  be,  and 
who  does  not,  upon  many  occasions,  give  credit  to  tales 
which  not  only  turn  out  to  be  perfectly  false,  but  which  a 
very  moderate  degree  of  reflection  and  attention  might 
have  taught  him  could  not  well  be  true.  The  natural  dis- 
position is  always  to  believe.  It  is  acquired  wisdom  and 
experience  alone  that  teach  incredulity,  and  they  very  sel- 
dom teach  it  enough.  The  wisest  and  most  cautious  of 
us  all  frequently  gives  credit  to  stories  which  he  himself  is 
afterwards  both  ashamed  and  astonished  that  he  could  pos- 
sibly think  of  believing."  This  disposition  to  repose  faith 
in  testimony  bears  a  striking  analogy,  both  in  its  origin  and 
in  its  final  cause,  to  our  instinctive  expectation  of  the  con- 
tinuance of  those  laws  which  regulate  the  course  of  physi- 
cal events. 

In  infancy  the  principle  of  veracity  is  by  no  means  so 
conspicuous  as  that  of  credulity,  and  it  sometimes  happens 

*  For  the  political  aspects  of  this  subject,  see  Lord  Brougham's  Politi- 
cal Philosophy,  Part  III.  Chap.  xxi.  —  ED. 


358  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

that  a  good  deal  of  care  is  necessary  to  cherish  it.  But 
in  such  cases  it  will  always  be  found  that  there  is  some 
indirect  motive  combined  with  the  desire  of  social  com- 
munication, such  as  fear,  or  vanity,  or  mischief,  or  sensu- 
ality. The  same  principle  which  prompts  to  social  inter- 
course and  to  the  use  of  speech  prompts  also  to  veracity. 
Nor  is  it  probable  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  falsehood 
uttered  merely  from  the  love  of  falsehood. 

If  this  remark  be  just,  it  suggests  an  important  practical 
rule  in  the  business  of  education  :  —  not  to  attempt  the 
cure  of  lying  and  deceit  by  general  rules  concerning  the 
duty  of  veracity,  or  by  punishments  inflicted  upon  every 
single  violation  of  it,  but  by  studying  to  discover  and  re- 
move the  radical  evil  from  which  it  springs,  whether  it  be 
cowardice,  or  vanity,  or  mischief,  or  selfishness,  or  sen- 
suality. Either  of  these,  if  allowed  to  operate,  will  in 
time  unhinge  the  natural  constitution  of  the  mind,  and  pro- 
duce a  disregard  to  truth  upon  all  occasions  where  a  tem- 
porary convenience  can  be  gained  by  the  breach  of  it. 

From  these  imperfect  hints,  it  would  appear  that  every 
breach  of  veracity  indicates  some  latent  vice  or  some 
criminal  intention,  which  an  individual  is  ashamed  to  avow. 
And  hence  the  peculiar  beauty  of  openness  or  sincerity, 
uniting  in  some  degree  in  itself  the  graces  of  all  the  other 
moral  qualities  of  which  it  attests  the  existence. 


CHAPTER     III. 

OF  THE  DUTIES  WHICH    RESPECT  OURSELVES. 

PRUDENCE,  temperance,  and  fortitude  are  no  less  req- 
uisite for  enabling  us  to  discharge  our  social  duties,  than 
for  securing  our  own  private  happiness  ;  but  as  they  do  not 
necessarily  imply  any  reference  to  our  fellow-creatures, 
they  seem  to  belong  most  properly  to  this  third  branch  of 
virtue. 

An  illustration  of  the  nature  and  tendency  of  these 
qualities,  and  of  the  means  by  which  they  are  to  be  im- 


PURSUIT    OF    HAPPINESS.  359 

proved  and  confirmed,  although  a  most  important  article 
of  ethics,  does  not  lead  to  any  discussions  of  so  abstract 
a  kind  as  to  require  particular  attention  in  a  work  of  which 
brevity  is  a  principal  object.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  re- 
mark, that,  independently  of  all  considerations  of  utility, 
either  to  ourselves  or  to  others,  these  qualities  are  ap- 
proved of  as  right  and  becoming.  Their  utility,  at  the 
same  time,  or  rather  necessity,  for  securing  the  discharge 
of  our  other  duties,  adds  greatly  to  the  respect  they  com- 
mand, and  is  certainly  the  chief  ground  of  the  obligation 
\ve  lie  under  to  cultivate  the  habits  by  which  they  are 
formed. 

A  steady  regard,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  to  the  happiness 
and  perfection  of  our  own  nature,  and  a  diligent  study  of 
the  means  by  which  these  ends  may  be  attained,  is  another 
duty  belonging  to  this  branch  of  virtue.  It  is  a  duty  so 
important  and  comprehensive,  that  it  leads  to  the  practice 
of  all  the  rest,  and  is  therefore  entitled  to  a  very  full  and 
particular  examination  in  a  system  of  moral  philosophy. 
Such  an  examination,  while  it  leads  our  thoughts  "  to  the 
end  and  aim  of  our  being,"  will  again  bring  under  our  re- 
view the  various  duties  already  considered  ;  and,  by  show- 
ing how  they  all  conspire  in  recommending  the  same  dis- 
positions, will  illustrate  the  unity  of  design  in  the  human 
constitution,  and  the  benevolent  wisdom  displayed  in  its 
formation.  Other  subordinate  duties,  besides,  which  it 
would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  under  separate  titles,  may 
thus  be  placed  in  a  light  more  interesting  and  agreeable. 

SECTION  I. 

OF    THE    DUTY    OF    EMPLOYING    THE    MEANS  WE   POSSESS    TO 
SECURE    OUR    OWN    HAPPINESS. 

ACCORDING  to  Dr.  Hutcheson,  our  conduct,  so  far  as 
it  is  influenced  by  self-love,  is  never  the  object  of  moral 
approbation.  Even  a  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  a  good 
conscience  he  considered  as  detracting  from  the  merit  of 
those  actions  which  it  encourages  us  to  perform. 

That  the  principle  of  self-love  (or,  in  other  words,  the 
desire  of  happiness)  is  neither  an  object  of  approbation 


360  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

nor  of  blame  is  sufficiently  obvious.  It  is  inseparable 
from  the  nature  of  man  as  a  rational  and  a  sensitive  being. 
It  is,  however,  no  less  obvious,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
this  desire,  considered  as  a  principle  of  action,  has  by  no 
means  a  uniform  influence  on  the  conduct.  Our  animal 
appetites,  our  affections,  and  the  other  inferior  principles 
of  our  nature,  interfere  as  often  with  self-love  as  with  be- 
nevolence, and  mislead  us  from  our  own  happiness  as  much 
as  from  the  duties  we  owe  to  others. 

In  these  cases,  every  spectator  pronounces  that  we 
deserve  to  suffer  for  our  folly  and  indiscretion  ;  and  we 
ourselves,  as  soon  as  the  tumult  of  passion  is  over,  feel  in 
the  same  manner.  Nor  is  this  remorse  merely  a  sentiment 
of  regret  for  having  missed  that  happiness  which  we  might 
have  enjoyed.  We  are  dissatisfied,  not  only  with  our  con- 
dition, but  with  our  conduct,  —  with  our  having  forfeited 
by  our  own  imprudence  what  we  might  have  attained.* 

It  is  true,  that  we  do  not  feel  so  warm  an  indignation 
against  the  neglect  of  private  good  as  against  perfidy, 
cruelty,  and  injustice.  The  reason  probably  is,  that  im- 
prudence commonly  carries  its  own  punishment  along  with 
it,  and  our  resentmeru  is  disarmed  by  pity.  Indeed,  as 
that  habitual  regard  to  his  own  happiness,  which  every 
man  feels,  except  when  under  the  influence  of  some  vio- 
lent appetite,  is  a  powerful  check  on  imprudence,  it  was 
less  necessary  to  provide  an  additional  punishment  for  this 
vice  in  the  indignation  of  the  world. 

From  the  principles  now  stated,  it  follows,  that,  in  a 
person  who  believes  in  a  future  state,  the  criminality  of 
every  bad  action  is  aggravated  by  the  imprudence  with 
which  it  is  accompanied. 

-It  follows,  also,  that  the  punishments  annexed  by  the 
civil  magistrate  to  particular  actions  render  the  commission 
of  them  more  criminal  than  it  would  otherwise  be  ;  inso- 
much, that,  if  an  action,  in  itself  perfectly  indifferent,  were 
prohibited  by  some  arbitrary  law,  under  a  severe  penalty, 
the  commission  of  that  action  (unless  we  were  called  to  it 
by  some  urgent  consideration  of  duty)  would  be  criminal, 
not  merely  on  account  of  the  obedience  which  a  subject 

*  See  Butler's  Dissertation  on  the  Nature  of  Virtue. 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  361 

owes  to  established  authority,  but  on  account  of  the  re- 
gard which  every  man  ought  to  feel  for  his  life  and  reputa- 
tion. To  forge  the  handwriting  of  another  with  a  fraud- 
ulent intention  is  undoubtedly  a  crime,  independently  of 
positive  institutions  ;  and  it  becomes  still  more  criminal  in 
a  commercial  country  like  ours,  on  account  of  the  exten- 
sive mischiefs  which  may  arise  from  it.  It  is  a  crime, 
however,  not  of  greater  magnitude  than  many  other  kinds 
of  commercial  fraud  that  might  be  mentioned.  If  the 
king,  for  example,  grants  his  patent  to  a  subject  for  a  par- 
ticular invention,  and  another  counterfeits  it,  and  makes 
use  of  his  name,  stamp,  and  coat  of  arms,  he  not  only  in- 
jures an  individual,  but  imposes  on  the  public.  Abstrac- 
tion made,  therefore,  of  positive  law,  the  criminality  of  the 
latter  act  is  fully  as  great  as  that  of  the  former.  As  the 
law,  however,  has  made  the  one  act  capital,  and  the  other 
not,  but  only  subjected  the  person  who  commits  it  to  pe- 
cuniary damages  to  the  individual  he  has  injured,  the  for- 
gery of  a  deed  becomes  incomparably  more  criminal,  in  a 
moral  view,  than  the  counterfeit  of  a  patent  invention.  A 
good  man,  indeed,  will  neither  do  the  one  nor  the  other. 
But  the  man  who  adds  to  a  fraudulent  disposition  an  im- 
prudent disregard  to  his  own  life  and  character  is,  un- 
doubtedly, the  more  guilty  of  the  two,  and  meets  his  fate 
with  much  less  sympathy  from  others  than  he  would  re- 
ceive if  he  had  committed  the  same  act  without  knowing 
its  consequences. 


SECTION  II. 

OF    THE    DIFFERENT    THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS. 

I.  General  Observations.]  The  most  superficial  ob- 
servation of  life  is  sufficient  to  convince  us  that  happiness 
is  not  to  be  attained  by  giving  every  appetite  and  desire 
the  gratification  it  demands  ;  and  that  it  is  necessary  for 
us  to  form  to  ourselves  some  plan  or  system  of  conduct, 
in  subordination  to  which  all  other  objects  are  to  be  pur- 
sued. 

To  ascertain  what  this  system  ought  to  be  is  a  problem 
which  has,  in  all  ages,  employed  the  speculations  of  phi- 
31 


362  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

losophers.  Among  the  ancients,  the  question  concerning 
the  sovereign  good  was  the  principal  subject  of  controversy 
which  divided  the  schools  ;  and  it  was  treated  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  involve  almost  every  other  question  of  ethics. 
The  opinions  maintained  with  respect  to  it  by  some  of  their 
sects  comprehend  many  of  the  most  important  truths  to 
which  the  inquiry  leads,  and  leave  little  to  be  added  but 
a  few  corrections  and  limitations  of  their  conclusions. 

These  opinions  may  be  all  reduced  to  three  :  those  of 
the  Epicureans,  of  the  Stoics,  and  of  the  Peripatetics  ; 
and,  indeed,  it  does  not  seem  possible  to  form  a  concep- 
tion of  any  scheme  of  happiness  which  may  not  be  referred 
to  one  or  other  of  these  three  systems. 

II.  (1.)  The  Epicurean.']  The  fundamental  principle 
of  the  Epicurean  system  was,  that  bodily  pleasure  and 
pain  were  the  sole  ultimate  objects  of  desire  and  aversion. 
These  were  desired  and  shunned  on  their  own  account  ; 
everything  else,  from  its  tendency  to  procure  the  one  of 
these  or  to  save  us  from  the  other.  Power,  (for  exam- 
ple,) riches,  reputation,  even  the  virtues  themselves,  were 
not  desirable  for  their  own  sake,  but  were  valuable  merely 
as  being  instrumental'to  procure  us  the  objects  of  our  nat- 
ural desires.  "  They  who  place  the  sovereign  good  in 
virtue  alone,  and  who,  dazzled  by  words,  overlook  the  in- 
tentions of  nature,  will  be  delivered  from  this  greatest  of 
all  errors,  if  they  will  only  listen  to  Epicurus.  As  to 
these  rare  and  excellent  qualities  on  which  you  set  so  high 
a  value,  who  is  there  that  would  consider  them  as  objects 
either  of  praise  or  of  imitation,  unless  from  a  belief  that 
they  are  instrumental  in  adding  to  the  sum  of  our  pleas- 
ures ?  For  as  we  prize  the  medical  art,  not  on  its  own 
account,  but  as  subservient  to  the  preservation  of  health, 
and  the  art  of  the  pilot,  not  for  the  skill  he  displays,  but  as 
it  diminishes  the  dangers  of  navigation,  so,  also,  wisdom, 
which  is  the  art  of  living,  would  be  coveted  by  none  if 
it  were  altogether  unprofitable,  whereas  now  it  is  an  ob- 
ject of  general  pursuit,  from  a  persuasion  that  it  both  guides 
us  to  our  best  enjoyments,  and  points  out  to  us  the  most 
effectual  means  for  their  attainment."  * 

•  Cicero,  De  Fin.,  Lib.  I.  13. 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  363 

All  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  mind  (according  to 
Epicurus)  are  derived  from  the  recollection  and  anticipa- 
tion of  bodily  pleasures  and  pains  ;  but  this  recollection 
and  anticipation  he  considered  as  contributing  much  more 
to  our  happiness  or  misery  on  the  whole,  than  the  pleas- 
ures and  pains  themselves.  His  philosophy  was,  indeed, 
directed  chiefly  to  inculcate  this  truth,  and  to  withdraw 
our  solicitude  from  the  pleasures  and  pains  themselves, 
which  are  not  in  our  power,  to  the  regulation  of  our  recol- 
lections and  anticipations,  which  depend  upon  ourselves. 
He  placed  happiness,  therefore,  in  ease  of  body  and  tran- 
quillity of  mind,  but  much  more  in  the  latter  than  in  the 
former,  insomuch  that  he  affirmed  a  wise  man  might  be 
happy  in  the  midst  of  bodily  torments.  "  Hear,"  says 
Cicero,  "  the  language  of  Epicurus  on  his  death-bed. 
'  Epicurus  to  Hermachus,  greeting.  —  While  I  am  passing 
the  last  day  of  my  life,  and  that  the  happiest,  I  write  this 
epistle,  oppressed,  at  the  same  time,  with  so  many  and  such 
acute  maladies,  that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  conceive 
that  my  sufferings  are  susceptible  of  augmentation.  All 
these,  however,  are  amply  compensated  by  the  mental 
joy  I  derive  from  the  recollection  of  the  reasonings  and 
discoveries  of  which  I  am  the  author.' '  The  concluding 
sentence  of  this  letter  does  more  honor  to  Epicurus  than 
any  other  part  of  it.  "  But 'you,  as  is  worthy  of  your 
good-will  towards  me  and  philosophy,  let  it  be  your  busi- 
ness to  consider  yourself  as  the  guardian  and  protector  of 
the  children  of  Metrodorus."  * 

Epicurus  himself  is  represented  as  a  person  of  inoffen- 
sive and  even  amiable  manners.  He  is  said  to  have  taught 
his  philosophy  in  a  garden,  where  he  lived  a  temperate 
and  quiet  life,  enjoying  what  Thomson  calls  "  the  glad 
poetic  ease  of  Epicurus,  —  seldom  understood."  He  died 
at  an  advanced  age,  and  was  so  much  beloved  and  es- 
teemed by  his  followers,  that  his  birthday  was  annually  cel- 
ebrated as  a  festival.  His  private  virtues,  however,  were 
probably,  in  a  great  measure,  the  effect  of  a  happy  natural 
constitution  ;  for  his  philosophy,  besides  destroying  all 

*  DF.  Fin.,  II.  30.  The  same  letter  is  also  found  in  Diogenes  Laertius. 
Lib.  X. 


364  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

those  supports  of  morality  that  religion  affords,  tended 
avowedly  to  recommend  a  life  of  indolent  and  selfish  in- 
dulgence, and  a  total  abstraction  from  the  concerns  and 
duties  of  the  world.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  many  of 
his  disciples  brought  so  much  discredit  on  their  principles 
by  the  dissoluteness  of  their  lives,  that  the  word  Epicu- 
rean came  gradually  to  be  understood  as  characteristical 
of  a  person  devoted  to  sensual  gratifications. 

The  influence  which  these  principles  had  on  the  man- 
ners of  the  later  Romans  has  been  remarked  by  many 
writers  ;  and  it  is  not  a  little  curious  that  it  was  clearly 
foreseen,  ages  before,  by  their  virtuous  and  enlightened 
progenitors.  This  fact,  which  has  not  been  sufficiently 
attended  to,  deserves  the  serious  consideration  of  those 
who  are  disposed  to  call  in  question  the  effect  of  specula- 
tive opinions  on  national  character. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  Rome  471,  and  during  the  consul- 
ate of  Fabricius,  that  the  Romans  seem  to  have  received 
the  first  notice  of  the  Epicurean  doctrines.  At  that  period 
the  Tarentines  had  the  address  to  instigate  the  Samnites, 
and  almost  all  the  other  Italian  states,  to  take  arms  against 
the  republic,  and  also  prevailed  on  Pyrrhus,  king  of  Epirus, 
to  give  them  his  assistance.  In  the  course  of  the  war, 
Fabricius,  with  two  other  persons  of  high  rank,  was  sent 
to  Pyrrhus's  court,  to  treat  with  him  about  an  exchange  of 
prisoners  ;  and  it  was  at  a  public  entertainment  given  to 
them  upon  that  occasion  that  Cineas,  his  minister  and  fa- 
vorite, gave  the  Roman  ambassadors  a  general  idea  of  the 
philosophical  principles  which  Epicurus  had  begun  to  teach 
at  Athens  about  twenty  years  before.  The  effect  which 
this  conversation  had  on  the  minds  of  the  Roman  ambas- 
sadors is  an  instructive  fact  in  the  history  of  philosophy. 

"  I  have  frequently  heard  from  some  of  my  friends,  who 
were  much  my  seniors,"  says  Cato  to  Scipio  and  Laelius, 
"a  traditionary  anecdote  concerning  Fabricius.  They 
assured  me,  that,  in  the  early  part  of  their  life,  they  were 
told  by  certain  very  old  men  of  their  acquaintance,  that, 
when  Fabricius  was  ambassador  at  the  court  of  Pyrrhus, 
he  expressed  great  astonishment  at  the  account  given  him 
by  Cineas  of  a  philosopher  at  Athens,  who  maintained  that 
the  love  of  pleasure  was  universally  the  leading  motive  of 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  365 

all  human  actions.  My  informer  added,  that,  when  Fabri- 
cius  related  this  fact  to  M.  Curius  and  Titus  Coruncanius, 
they  both  joined  in  wishing  that  Pyrrhus  and  the  whole 
Samnite  nation  might  become  converts  to  this  extraordi- 
nary doctrine,  as  the  people  who  were  infected  with  such 
unmanly  principles  could  not  fail,  they  thought,  of  proving 
an  easy  conquest  to  their  enemies.  M.  Curius  had  been 
intimately  connected  with  Publius  Decius,  who  in  his  fourth 
consulate  (which  was  five  years  before  the  former  entered 
upon  that  office)  gloriously  sacrificed  his  life  to  the  pres- 
ervation of  his  country.  This  generous  patriot  was  per- 
sonally known  both  to  Fabricius  and  to  Coruncanius  ;  and 
they  were  convinced,  by  wrhat  they  experienced  in  their 
own  breasts,  as  well  as  by  the  illustrious  example  of  De- 
cius, that  there  is  in  certain  actions  an  intrinsic  rectitude 
and  obligation  which,  with  a  noble  contempt  of  what  the 
world  calls  pleasure,  every  great  and  generous  rnind  will 
steadily  keep  in  view  as  a  sacred  rule  of  conduct,  and  as 
the  chief  concern  of  life."* 

III.  (2.)  The  Stoic.']  In  opposition  to  the  Epicurean 
doctrines  already  stated  on  the  subject  of  happiness,  the 
Stoics  placed  the  supreme  good  in  rectitude  of  conduct, 
without  any  regard  to  the  event.  They  did  not,  however, 
as  has  been  often  supposed,  recommend  an  indifference  to 
external  objects,  or  a  life  of  inactivity  and  apathy.  On 
the  contrary,  they  taught  that  nature  pointed  out  to  us 
certain  objects  of  choice  and  of  rejection,  and  amongst 

*  Cicero,  De  Senect,  The  system  of  morals  generally  ascribed  to 
Epicurus  is  said  to  have  been  borrowed  from  Aristippus,  who  also 
taught  that  happiness  consisted  in  bodily  pleasure;  but  it  is  probable,  as 
Mr.  Smith  observes,  that  his  manner  of  applying  his  principles  was 
altogether  his  own.  Indeed,  we  have  the  testimony  of  Diogenes  Laertius 
that  Aristippus  taught  that  happiness  consisted  in  the  present  pleasures 
of  the  body,  and  not  in  any  mental  refinements  on  these  pleasures,  ac- 
cording to  the  system  of  Epicurus.  —  Lib.  II.. 187.  The  lift  of  Epicurus 
has  been  written  in  modern  times  by  Gassendi,  (who  also  attempted  to 
revive  his  philosophy,  Syntagma  Philosophia;  EpicuriJ)  and  by  Bayle. 
Heineccius  also  mentions  a  book  entitled,  Jacob  Rondellus,  De  Vila  et 
de  Moribus  Ejricuri,  which  has  never  fallen  in  my  way.  [For  more 
modern  authorities,  see  the  general  histories  of  philosophy  by  Tenne- 
mann,  Ritter,  and  Degerando.  Also,  Warnekros,  Jlpologie  vnd  Lr.ben 
Epicurs.  Stein  hart  in  Ersch  u.  Gruler.  Mlgem.  Encyclop.  Vol.  XXXV. 
p.  459  et  seq.~] 

31* 


366  DUTIES    TO   OURSELVES. 

these  some  to  be  more  chosen  and  avoided  than  others  ; 
and  that  virtue  consisted  in  choosing  and  rejecting  objects 
according  to  their  intrinsic  value.  They  admitted  that 
health  was  to  be  preferred  to  sickness,  riches  to  poverty  ; 
the  prosperity  of  our  family,  of  our  friends,  of  our  country, 
to  their  adversity  ;  and  they  allowed,  nay,  they  recom- 
mended, the  most  strenuous  exertions  to  accomplish  these 
desirable  ends.  They  only  contended  that  these  objects 
should  be  pursued,  not  as  the  constituents  of  our  happiness, 
but  because  we  believe  it  to  be  agreeable  to  nature  that 
we  should  pursue  them  ;  and  that,  therefore,  when  we 
have  done  our  utmost,  we  should  regard  the  event  as  in- 
different. 

That  this  is  a  fair  representation  of  the  Stoical  doctrine 
has  been  fully  proved  by  Mr.  Harris,  in  the  very  learned 
and  judicious  notes  on  his  Dialogue  concerning  Happi- 
ness ;  a  performance  which,  although  not  entirely  free 
from  Mr.  Harris's  peculiarities  of  thought  and  style,  does 
him  so  much  honor,  both  as  a  writer  and  a  moralist,  that 
we  cannot  help  regretting,  while  we  peruse  it,  that  he 
should  so  often  have  wasted  his  ingenuity  and  learning  up- 
on scholastic  subtilties,  equally  inapplicable  to  the  pursuits 
of  science  and  to  the  business  of  life. 

"  The  word  natfo?,"  he  observes,  "  which  we  usually 
render  a  passion,  means,  in  the  Stoic  sense,  a  perturba- 
tion, and  is  always  so  translated  by  Cicero  ;  and  the  epi- 
thet dnadrtf,  when  applied  to  the  wise  man,  does  not  mean 
an  exemption  from  passion,  but  an  exemption  from  that  per- 
turbation which  is  founded  on  erroneous  opinions.  The 
testimony  of  Epictetus  is  expressed  to  this  purpose.  '  I 
am  not,'  says  he,  '  to  be  apathetic  like  a  statue,  but  I  am 
withal  to  observe  relations,  both  the  natural  and  the  adven- 
titious ;  as  the  man  of  religion,  as  the  son,  as  the  brother, 
as  the  father,  as  the  citizen.'  And  immediately  before,  he 
tells  us,  that  '  a  perturbation  in  no  other  way  ever  arises, 
but  either  when  a  desire  is  frustrated,  or  an  aversion  falls 
into  that  which  it  should  avoid.'  In  which  passage,"  says 
Harris,  u  it  is  observable  that  he  does  not  make  eitht 
desire  or  aversion  jio'tfij,  or  perturbations,  but  only  i\ 
cause  of  perturbations  when  erroneously  conducted." 

From  a  great  variety  of  passages,  which  it  is  unnect 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  367 

sary  for  me  to  transcribe,  Harris  concludes  that  "  the 
Stoics,  in  the  character  of  their  virtuous  man,  included 
rational  desire,  aversion,  and  exultation  ;  included  love 
and  parental  affection,  friendship,  and  a  general  benevo- 
lence to  all  mankind  ;  and  considered  it  as  a  duty  arising 
from  our  very  nature  not  to  neglect  the  welfare  of  public 
society,  but  to  be  ever  ready,  according  to  our  rank,  to 
act  either  as  the  magistrate  or  as  the  private  citizen." 

Nor  did  they  exclude  wealth  from  among  the  objects  of 
choice.  The  Sioic  Hecato,  in  his  treatise  Of  Offices, 
quoted  by  Cicero,  tells  us,  that  "  a  wise  man,  while  he 
abstains  from  doing  any  thing  contrary  to  the  customs, 
laws,  and  institutions  of  his  country,  ought  to  attend  to  his 
own  fortune.  For  we  do  not  desire  to  be  rich  for  our- 
selves only,  but  for  our  children,  relations,  and  friends,  and 
especially  for  the  commonwealth,  inasmuch  as  the  riches 
of  individuals  are  the  wealth  of  a  state."*  "Nay," 
says  Cicero,  on  another  occasion,  "  if  the  wise  man  could 
mend  his  condition  by  adding  to  the  amplest  possessions 
the  poorest,  meanest  utensil,  he  would  in  no  degree  con- 
temn it."  f 

From  these  quotations  it  sufficiently  appears  that  the 
Stoical  system,  so  far  from  withdrawing  men  from  the  du- 
ties of  life,  was  eminently  favorable  to  active  virtue.  Its 
peculiar  and  distinguishing  tenet  was,  that  our  happiness 
did  not  depend  on  the  attainment  of  the  objects  of  our 
choice,  but  on  the  part  that  we  acted  ;  but  this  principle 
was  inculcated,  not  to  damp  our  exertions,  but  to  lead  us 
to  rest  our  happiness  only  on  circumstances  which  we  our- 
selves could  command.  "  If  I  am  going  to  sail,"  says 
Epictetus,  "  I  choose  the  best  ship  and  the  best  pilot,  and 
I  wait  for  the  fairest  weather  that  my  circumstances  and 
duty  will  allow.  Prudence  and  propriety,  the  principles 
which  the  gods  have  given  me  for  the  direction  of  my 
conduct,  require  this  of  me,  but  they  require  no  more  ; 
and  if,  notwithstanding,  a  storm  arises,  which  neither  the 
strength  of  the  vessel  nor  the  skill  of  the  pilot  is  likely 
to  withstand,  I  give  myself  no  trouble  about  the  conse- 
quences. All  that  I  had  to  do  is  done  already.  The 

*  De  Off.,  III.  15.  t  De  Finibus,  IV.  12. 


368  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

directors  of  my  conduct  never  command  me  to  be  misera- 
ble, to  be  anxious,  desponding,  or  afraid.  Whether  we 
are  to  be  drowned  or  come  to*  harbour  is  the  business  of 
Jupiter,  not  mine.  I  leave  it  entirely  to  his  determina- 
tion, nor  ever  break  my  rest  with  considering  which  way 
he  is  likely  to  decide  it,  but  receive  whatever  comes  with 
equal  indifference  and  security." 

We  may  observe  further,  in  favor  of  this  noble  system, 
that  the  scale  of  desirable  objects  which  it  exhibited  was 
peculiarly  calculated  to  encourage  the  social  virtues.  It 
represented,  indeed,  (in  common  with  the  theory  of  Epicu- 
rus,) self-love  as  the  great  spring  of  human  actions  ;  but  in 
the  application  of  this  erroneous  principle  to  practice,  its 
doctrines  were  favorable  to  the  most  enlarged,  nay,  to  the 
most  disinterested  benevolence.  It  taught  that  the  pros- 
perity of  two  was  preferable  to  that  of  one  ;  that  of  a  city 
to  that  of  a  family  ;  and  that  of  our  country  to  all  partial 
considerations.  It  was  upon  this  very  principle,  added  to 
a  sublime  sentiment  of  piety,  that  it  founded  its  chief  argu- 
ment for  an  entire  resignation  to  the  dispensations  of  Provi- 
dence. As  all  events  are  ordered  by  perfect  wisdom  and 
goodness,  the  Stoics  concluded  that  whatever  happens  is 
calculated  to  produce  the  greatest  good  possible  to  the 
universe  in  general.  As  it  is  agreeable  to  nature,  there- 
fore, that  we  should  prefer  the  happiness  of  many  to  a  few, 
and  of  all  to  that  of  many,  they  concluded  that  every  event 
which  happens  is  precisely  that  which  we  ourselves  would 
have  desired,  if  we  had  been  acquainted  with  the  whole 
scheme  of  the  Divine  administration.  "In  what  sense," 
says  Epictetus,  "  are  some  things  said  to  be  according  to 
our  nature,  and  others  contrary  to  it  ?  It  is  in  that  sense 
in  which  we  consider  ourselves  as  separated  and  detached 
from  all  other  things.  For  thus  it  may  be  said  to  be  the 
nature  of  the  foot  to  be  always  clean.  But  if  you  con- 
sider it  as  a  foot,  and  not  as  something  detached  from  the 
rest  of  the  body,  it  must  behoove  it  sometimes  to  trample 
in  the  dirt,  and  sometimes  to  tread  upon  thorns,  and  some- 
times, too,  to  be  cut  off  for  the  sake  of  the  whole  body  ; 
and  if  it  refuses  this,  it  is  no  longer  a  foot.  Thus,  too, 
ought  we  to  conceive  with  respect  to  ourselves.  What 
are  you  ?  A  man.  If  you  consider  yourself  as  some- 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  369 

thing  separated  and  detached,  it  is  agreeable  to  your  na- 
ture to  live  to  old  age,  to  be  rich,  to  be  in  health.  But 
if  you  consider  yourself  as  a  man,  and  as  a  part  of  the 
whole,  upon  account  of  that  whole  it  will  behoove  you 
sometimes  to  be  in  sickness,  sometimes  to  be  exposed  to 
the  inconveniency  of  a  sea  voyage,  sometimes  to  be  in 
want,  and  at  last,  perhaps,  to  die  before  your  time.  Why, 
then,  do  you  complain  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  by  doing 
so,  as  the  foot  ceases  to  be  a  foot,  so  you  cease  to  be  a 
man." 

In  the  writings,  indeed,  of  some  of  the  Stoics,  we  meet 
with  some  absurd  and  violent  paradoxes  about  the  perfect 
felicity  of  the  wise  man  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  equality 
of  misery  among  all  those  who  fall  short  of  this  ideal  char- 
acter on  the  other.  "  As  all  the  actions  of  the  wise  man 
were  perfect,  so  all  those  of  the  man  who  had  not  arrived 
at  this  supreme  wisdom  were  faulty,  and  equally  faulty. 
As  one  truth  could  not  be  more  true,  nor  one  falsehood 
more  false,  than  another,  so  an  honorable  action  could  not 
be  more  honorable,  nor  a  shameful  one  more  shameful, 
than  another.  As,  in  shooting  at  a  mark,  the  man  who 
had  missed  it  by  an  inch  had  equally  missed  it  with  him 
who  had  done  so  by  a  hundred  yards,  so  the  man  who, 
in  what  appeared  to  us  the  most  insignificant  action,  had 
acted  improperly,  and  without  a  sufficient  reason,  was 
equally  faulty  with  him  who  had  done  so  in  what  appears 
to  us  the  most  important  ;  the  man  who  had  killed  a  cock, 
for  example,  improperly,  and  without  a  sufficient  reason, 
with  him  who  had  murdered  his  father. 

"  It  is  not,  however,"  continues  Mr.  Smith,  "  by  any 
means  probable  that  these  paradoxes  formed  a  part  of  the 
original  principles  of  Stoicism,  as  taught  by  Zeno  and  Cle- 
anthes.  It  is  much  more  probable  that  they  were  added 
to  it  by  their  disciple,  Chrysippus,  whose  genius  seems  to 
have  been  more  fitted  for  systematizing  the  doctrines  of 
his  preceptors,  and  adorning  them  with  the  imposing  ap- 
pendages of  artificial  definitions  and  divisions,  than  for  im- 
bibing the  sublime  spirit  which  they  breathed." 

This  apology,  however,  it  must  be  confessed,  will  not 
extend  to  all  the  errors  of  the  Stoical  school.  In  particu- 
lar, it  will  not  extend  to  the  notions"  it  inculcated  on  the 


370  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

subject  of  suicide,  and,  in  general,  on  the  air  of  defiance 
and  gayety  with  which  death  was  to  be  met.  But  to  ac- 
count even  for  these,  in  some  measure,  by  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  the  times  when  this  philosophy  arose,  Mr. 
Smith  observes  :  —  "  The  different  republics  of  Greece 
were  at  home  almost  always  distracted  by  the  most  furious 
'factions,  and  abroad  involved  in  the  most  sanguinary  wars, 
in  which  each  sought,  not  merely  superiority  or  dominion, 
but  either  completely  to  extirpate  all  its  enemies,  or,  what 
was  not  less  cruel,  to  reduce  them  into  the  vilest  of  all 
states,  —  that  of  domestic  slavery.  The  smallness  of  the 
greater  part  of  those  states,  too,  rendered  it  to  each  of 
them  no  very  improbable  event,  that  it  might  itself  fall  in- 
to that  very  calamity  which  it  had  so  frequently  inflicted 
or  attempted  to  inflict  on  its  neighbours.  In  this  disor- 
derly state  of  things,  the  most  perfect  innocence,  joined  to 
the  highest  rank  and  the  greatest  services  to  the  public, 
could  give  no  security  to  any  man,  that,  even  at  home  and 
among  his  fellow-citizens,  he  was  not,  at  some  time  or 
other,  from  the  prevalence  of  some  hostile  and  furious 
faction,  to  be  condemned  to  the  most  cruel  and  ignomini- 
ous punishment.  If  he  was  taken  prisoner  of  war,  or  if 
the  city  of  which  he  was  a  member  was  conquered,  he 
was  exposed,  if  possible,  to  still  greater  injuries.  As  an 
American  savage,  therefore,  prepares  his  death-song,  and 
considers  how  he  should  act  when  he  has  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  his  enemies,  and  is  by  them  put  to  death  in  the 
most  lingering  tortures,  and  amidst  the  insults  and  deris- 
ion of  all  the  spectators,  so  a  Grecian  patriot  or  hero 
could  not  avoid  frequently  employing  his  thoughts  in  con- 
sidering what  he  ought  both  to  suffer  and  to  do  in  banish- 
ment, in  captivity,  when  reduced  to  slavery,  when  put  to 
the  torture,  when  brought  to  the  scaffold.  It  was  the  busi- 
ness of  their  philosophers  to  prepare  the  death-song  which 
the  Grecian  patriots  and  heroes  might  make  use  of  on  the 
proper  occasions  ;  and  of  all  the  different  sects,  the  Stoics, 
I  think  it  must  be  acknowledged,  had  prepared  by  far  the 
most  animated  and  spirited  song."  * 

*  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  VII.  Sect.  ii.  Chap.  i. 

The  preceding  extracts  from  Epictetus  are  also  taken  from  the  same 
chapter,  and  given  in  Mr.  Smith's  translation. 


THEORIES    OF    HAPPINESS.  371 

After  all,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  there  is  some 
foundation  for  a  censure  which  Lord  Bacon  has  some- 
where passed  on  this  celebrated  sect.  "  Certainly,"  says 
he,  "  the  Stoics  bestowed  too  much  cost  on  death,  and  by 
their  preparations  made  it  more  fearful."  At  least,  1  sus- 
pect this  may  be  the  tendency  of  some  passages  in  their 
writings,  in  such  a  state  of  society  as  that  in  which  we 
live  ;  but  in  perusing  them,  we  ought  always  to  remember 
the  circumstances  of  those  men  to  whom  they  were  ad- 
dressed, and  which  are  so  eloquently  described  in  the  ob- 
servations just  quoted  from  Mr.  Smith.  The  practical 
reflection  which  Bacon  adds  to  this  censure  is  invaluable, 
and  is  strictly  conformable  to  the  spirit  of  the  Stoical  sys- 
tem, although  he  seems  to  state  it  by  way  of  contrast  to 
their  principles.  "  It  is  as  natural,"  says  he,  "  to  die,  as 
to  be  born  ;  and  to  a  little  infant  perhaps  the  one  is  as 
painful  as  the  other.  He  that  dies  in  an  earnest  pursuit 
is  like  one  that  is  wounded  in  hot  blood,  who  for  a  time 
scarce  feels  the  hurt ;  and  therefore  a  mind  fixed  and  bent 
upon  somewhat  that  is  good  doth  best  avert  the  dolors  of 
death."* 

"  Hi  mores,  hsec  duri  immota  Catonis 
Secta  fuit,  servare  modum,  finemque  tenere, 
Naturamque  sequi,  patriaeque  iinpendere  vilam  ; 
Nee  sibi,  sed  toti  genitum  se  credere  inundo."t 

IV.  (3.)  The  Peripatetic. ]  The  doctrine  of  the  Peri- 
patetics on  this  subject  appears  to  have  coincided  with 
that  of  the  Pythagorean  school,  who  defined  happiness  to 
be  "  the  exercise  of  virtue  in  a  prosperous  life  "  (xwaig 
aQtjr,<;  «-V  tvrttfiw)  ;  a  definition,  like  several  others  trans- 
mitted to  us  from  the  same  source,  which  unites  in  a  re- 
markable degree  the  merits  of  conciseness  and  of  philo- 
sophical precision. 

In  confirmation  of  this  doctrine,  the  Pythagorean  school 
observed  that  it  was  not  the  mere  possession,  but  the  exer- 
cise, of  virtue  that  made  men  happy.  |  And  for  the  proper 

*  Essays  or  Counsels,  Civil  and  Moral,  Essay  II. 

t  Lucan.  Phars.,  Lib.  II.  1.  380. 

t  See  the  fragments  of  this  school,  published  in  Gale's  Opvscula  My- 
tholoarica,  Physica,  et  Ethica.  [Also,  the  general  histories  of  philosophy 
mentioned  above;  Ritterand  Preller  in  their  Historia  Philosoph.  Grteco- 
Roinan.;  the  article  on  Zenoin  Bayle,  Diet.,  and  Biograpkie  Universelle.] 


372  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

exercise  of  virtue,  they  thought  that  good  fortune  was  as 
necessary  as  light  is  for  the  exercise  of  the  faculty  of 
sight.  The  utmost  length,  accordingly,  which  they  went, 
was  to  say,  that  the  virtuous  man  in  adversity  was  not 
miserable  ;  whereas  the  vicious  and  foolish  were  miserable 
in  all  situations  of  fortune.  In  another  passage  they  say 
that  the  difference  between  God  and  man  is,  that  God 
is  perfect  in  himself,  and  needs  nothing  from  without  ; 
whereas  the  nature  of  man  is  imperfect  and  defective,  and 
dependent  on  external  circumstances.  Although,  there- 
fore, we  possess  virtue,  that  is  but  the  perfection  of  one 
part,  namely,  the  mind  ;  but  as  we  consist  both  of  body 
and  mind,  the  body  also  must  be  perfect  of  its  kind.  Nor 
is  that  alone  sufficient ;  but  the  prosperous  exercise  of 
virtue  requires  certain  externals  ;  such  as  wealth,  reputa- 
tion, friends,  and,  above  all,  a  well- constituted  state  ;  for 
without  that  the  rational  and  social  animal  is  imperfect, 
and  unable  to  fulfil  the  purposes  of  its  nature. 

The  difference  between  the  Peripatetics  and  Stoics  in 
these  opinions  is  beautifully  stated  by  Cicero,  in  a  passage 
strongly  expressive  of  the  elevation  of  his  own  character, 
as  well  as  highly  honorable  to  the  two  sects,  whose  doc- 
trines, while  he  contrasts  them  with  each  other,  he  plainly 
considered  as  both  originating  in  the  same  pure  and  ardent 
zeal  for  the  interests  of  morality.  "  Pugnant  Stoici  cum 
Peripateticis  :  alteri  negant  quidquam  bonurn  esse  nisi 
quod  honestum  sit ;  alteri,  plurimum  se,  et  longe,  longe- 
que  plurimum  attribuere  honestati,  sed  tamen  et  in  cor- 
pore,  et  extra,  esse  quaedam  bona.  Certamen  honestum, 
et  disputatio  splendida,  omnis  est  enim  de  virtutis  digni- 
tate  contentio."* 

*  De  Finibus,  Lib.  11.21.  "The  Stoics  oppose  the  Peripatetics:  one 
sect  denies  that  any  thing  can  be  good  unless  it  is  virtuous  ;  while  the 
other,  after  allowing  very  exalted  and  distinguished  qualities  to  virtue, 
still  thinks  that  there  are  some  bodily  and  external  circumstances  which 
are  good  in  some  degree.  The  contest  is  generous ;  the  difference  is 
glorious;  for  all  the  dispute  is  who  shall  most  ennoble  virtue."  See 
Arist.,  Ethic.  .Y/r«i/i.,  Lib.  I. 

Cousin,  in  his  Fragments  Philnsophiques,  Tome  I.  p.  279,  observes  :  — 
"  Not  only  do  we  unceasingly  aspire  after  happiness  as  sensitive  beings, 
but  when  we  have  done  well,  we  judge,  as  intelligent  and  moral  beings, 
that  we  are  worthy  of  happiness.  Ilence  the  necessary  principle  of  merit 
and  of  demerit,  the  origin  and  foundation  of  all  our  ideas  of  reward 
and  punishment;  —  a  principle  continually  confounded  either  with  the 
desire  of  happiness  or  with  the  moral  law. 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  373 


SECTION  III. 

MEANS    OF    PROMOTING    AND    SECURING    HAPPINESS. 

I.  Introductory  Remarks.]  From  the  slight  view  now 
given  of  the  systems  of  philosophers  with  respect  to  the 
Sovereign  Good,  it  may  be  assumed  as  an  acknowledged 
and  indisputable  fact,  that  happiness  arises  chiefly  from 
the  mind.  The  Stoics  undoubtedly  expressed  this  too 
strongly  when  they  said,  that  to  a  wise  man  external  cir- 
cumstances are  indifferent.  Yet  it  must  be  confessed, 
that  happiness  depends  much  less  on  these  than  is  com- 
monly imagined  ;  and  that,  as  there  is  no  situation  so 
prosperous  as  to  exclude  the  torments  of  malice,  coward- 
ice, and  remorse,  so  there  is  none  so  adverse  as  to  with- 
hold the  enjoyments  of  a  benevolent,  resolute,  and  upright 
heart. 

If,  from  the  sublime  idea  of  a  perfectly  wise  and  vir- 
itious  man,  we  descend  to  such  characters  as  the  world 
presents  to  us,  some  important  limitations  of  the  Stoical 
conclusions  become  necessary.  Mr.  Hume  has  justly 
remarked,  that,  "as  in  the  bodily  system  a  toothache 
produces  more  violent  convulsions  of  pain  than  phthisis  or 
a  dropsy,  so,  in  the  economy  of  the  mind,  although  all  vice 
be  pernicious,  yet  the  disturbance  or  pain  is  not  measured 
out  by  nature  with  exact  proportion  to  the  degree  of  vice  ; 
nor  is  the  man  of  highest  virtue,  even  abstracting  from  ex- 
ternal accidents,  always  the  most  happy.  A  gloomy  and 
melancholy  disposition  is  certainly  to  our  sentiments  a 
vice  or  imperfection  ;  but  as  it  may  be  accompanied  with 
a  great  sense  of  honor  and  great  integrity,  it  may  be  found 
in  very  worthy  characters,  though  it  is  sufficient  alone  to 

"Behold  why  it  is  that  the  question  of  the  sovereign  good  has  never 
been  resolved.  Philosophers  have  sought  a  simple  solution  for  a  com- 
plex question,  not  having  the  two  principles  which,  together,  are  capable 
of  resolving  it  completely. 

"  Epicurean  solution  :  —  the  satisfaction  of  the  desire  of  happiness. 

"Stoical  solution  :  —  the  fulfilment  of  the  moral  law. 

"  The  true  solution  is  found  in  the  harmony  existing  between  virtue, 
and  happiness  as  merited  by  it;  for  the  two  elements  in  this  duality  are 
not  equal.  Happiness  is  the  consequent ;  virtue  is  the  principle.  Vir- 
tue, though  not  the  sole  element  of  the  sovereign  good,  is  always  the 
chief." — ED. 

32 


374  DUTIES   TO    OURSELVES. 

embitter  life,  and  render  the  person  afflicted  with  it  com- 
pletely miserable.  On  the  other  hand,  a  selfish  villain 
may  possess  a  spring  and  alacrity  of  temper,  a  certain 
gayety  of  heart,  which  is  rewarded  much  beyond  its  merit ; 
and  when  attended  with  good  fortune,  will  compensate 
for  the  uneasiness  and  remorse  arising  from  all  the  other 
vices." 

However  this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  various  mental 
qualities,  which  have  no  immediate  connection  with  moral 
desert,  are  necessary  to  insure  happiness.  In  proof  of 
this  remark,  it  is  sufficient  to  consider  how  much  our 
tranquillity  is  liable  to  be  affected,  — 

1 .  By  our  temper  ; 

2.  By  our  imagination  ; 

3.  By  our  opinions  ;  and 

4.  By  our  habits. 

In  all  these  respects  the  mind  may  be  influenced  to  a 
great  degree  by  original  constitution  or  by  early  educa- 
tion ;  and  when  this  influence  happens  to  be  unfavorable, 
it  is  not  to  be  corrected  at  once  by  the  precepts  of  phi- 
losophy. Much,  however,  may  be  done,  undoubtedly,  in 
such  instances,  by  our  own  persevering  efforts  ;  and 
therefore  the  particulars  now  enumerated  deserve  our 
attention,  not  only  from  their  connection  with  the  specu- 
lative question  concerning  the  essentials  of  happiness,  but 
on  account  of  the  practical  conclusions  to  which  the  con- 
sideration of  them  may  lead. 

II.  (1.)  Influence  of  the  Temper  on  Happiness.]  The 
word  temper  is  used  in  different  senses.  Sometimes  we 
apply  to  it  the  epithets  gay,  lively,  melancholy,  gloomy  ; 
on  other  occasions,  the  epithets  fretful,  passionate,  sullen, 
cool,  equable,  gentle.  It  is  in  the  last  sense  we  use  it  at 
present,  to  denote  the  habitual  state  of  a  man's  mind  in 
point  of  irascibility  ;  or,  in  other  words,  to  mark  the  ha- 
bitual predominance  of  the  benevolent  or  malevolent  affec- 
tions in  his  intercourse  with  his  fellow-creatures. 

The  connection  between  this  part  of  the  character  of  an 
individual  and  the  habitual  state  of  his  mind  in  point  of 
happiness  is  obvious  from  what  was  formerly  observed 
concerning  the  pleasures  and  pains  attached  respectively 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  TEMPER.  375 

to  the  exercise  of  our  benevolent  and  malevolent  affec- 
tions. As  Nature  has  strengthened  the  social  ties  among 
mankind,  by  annexing  a  certain  charm  to  every  exercise 
of  good-will  and  of  kindness,  so  she  has  provided  a  check 
on  all  the  discordant  passions,  by  that  agitation  and  dis- 
quiet which  are  their  inseparable  concomitants.  This  is 
true  even  with  respect  to  resentment,  how  justly  soever  it 
may  be  provoked  by  the  injurious  conduct  of  others.  It 
is  always  accompanied  with  an  unpleasant  feeling,  which 
warns  us,  as  soon  as  we  have  taken  the  necessary  meas- 
ures for  our  own  security,  to  banish  every  sentiment  of 
malice  from  the  heart.  On  the  due  regulation  of  this  part 
of  our  constitution,  our  happiness  in  life  materially  de- 
pends ;  and  there  is  no  part  of  it  whatever  where  it  is  in 
our  power,  by  our  persevering  efforts,  to  do  more  to  cure 
our  constitutional  or  our  acquired  infirmities. 

Resentment  was  formerly  distinguished  into  instinctive 
and  deliberate.  In  some  men  the  animal  or  instinctive  im- 
pulse is  stronger  than  in  others.  Where  this  is  the  case, 
or  where  proper  care  has  not  been  taken  in  early  educa- 
tion to  bring  it  under  restraint,  a  quick  or  irascible  temper 
is  the  consequence.  This  fault  is  frequently  observable 
in  affectionate  and  generous  characters,  and  impairs  their 
happiness,  not  so  much  by  the  effects  it  produces  on  their 
minds  as  by  the  eventual  misfortunes  to  which  it  exposes 
them.  The  sentiments  of  ill-will  which  such  men  feel 
are  only  momentary,  and  the  habitual  state  of  their  mind 
is  benevolent  and  happy  ;  but  as  their  reason  is  the  sport 
of  every  accident,  the  best  dispositions  of  the  heart  can 
at  no  time  give  them  any  security  that  they  shall  not,  be- 
fore they  sleep,  experience  some  paroxysm  of  insanity, 
which  shall  close  all  their  prospects  of  happiness  for  ever. 
A  frequent  and  serious  consideration  of  the  fatal  conse- 
quences which  may  arise  from  sudden  and  ungoverned 
passion  cannot  fail  to  have  some  tendency  to  check  its  ex- 
cesses. It  is  an  infirmity  which  is  often  produced  by  some 
fault  in  early  education  ;  by  allowing  children  to  exercise 
authority  over  their  dependents,  and  not  providing  for 
them,  in  the  opposition  of  their  equals,  a  sufficient  disci- 
pline and  preparation  for  the  conflicts  they  may  expect  to 
struggle  with  in  future  life. 


376  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

When  the  animal  resentment  does  not  immediately  sub- 
side, it  must  be  supported  by  an  opinion  of  bad  intention 
in  its  object  ;  and,  consequently,  when  this  happens  to  an 
individual  so  habitually  as  to  be  characteristic  of  his  tem- 
per, it  indicates  a  disposition  on  his  part  to  put  unfavora- 
ble constructions  on  the  actions  of  others,  or  (as  we  com- 
monly express  it)  to  take  things  by  the  wrong  handle.  In 
some  instances  this  may  proceed  from  a  settled  conviction 
of  the  worthlessness  of  mankind  ;  but  in  general  it  orig- 
inates in  self-dissatisfaction,  occasioned  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  vice  or  folly,  which  leads  the  person  who  feels  it 
to  withdraw  his  attention  from  himself  by  referring  the 
causes  of  his  ill-humor  to  the  imaginary  faults  of  his  neigh- 
bours. Such  men  do  not  wait  till  provocation  is  given 
them,  but  look  out  anxiously  for  occasions  of  quarrel, 
creating  to  themselves,  by  the  help  of  imagination,  an  ob- 
ject suited  to  that  particular  humor  they  wish  to  indulge  ; 
and,  when  their  resentment  is  once  excited,  they  obsti- 
nately refuse  to  listen  to  any  thing  that  may  be  offered  in 
the  way  of  extenuation  or  apology.  In  feeble  minds,  this 
displays  itself  in  peevishness,  which  vents  itself  languidly 
upon  any  object  it  meets.  In  more  vigorous  and  deter- 
mined minds,  it  produces  violent  and  boisterous  passion. 
For,  as  Butler  has  well  remarked,  both  of  these  seem  to  be 
the  operation  of  the  same  principle,  appearing  in  differ- 
ent forms,  according  to  the  constitution  of  the  individual. 
"  In  the  one  case,  the  humor  discharges  itself  at  once  ; 
in  the  other,  it  is  continually  discharging." 

There  is,  too,  a  species  of  misanthropy,  which  is  some- 
times grafted  on  a  worthy  and  benevolent  heart.  When 
the  standard  of  moral  excellence  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  conceive  is  greatly  elevated  above  the  common 
attainments  of  humanity,  we  are  apt  to  become  too  diffi- 
cult and  fastidious  (if  I  may  use  the  expression)  in  our 
moral  taste  ;  or,  in  plainer  language,  we  become  unreason- 
ably censorious  of  the  follies  and  vices  of  the  age  in  which 
we  live.  In  such  cases  it  may  happen  that  the  native  be- 
nevolence of  the  mind,  by  being  habitually  directed  to- 
wards ideal  characters,  may  prove  a  source  of  real  disaf- 
fection and  dislike  to  those  with  whom  we  associate. 
The  only  effectual  remedy  for  this  evil  (as  I  have  had 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  TEMPER.  377 

occasion  to  observe  in  another  connection  *)  is  society  or 
business,  together  with  a  habit  of  directing  the  attention 
rather  to  the  improvement  of  our  own  characters,  than  to 
a  jealous  and  suspicious  examination  of  the  motives  which 
influence  the  conduct  of  our  neighbours. 

This  last  observation  leads  me  to  remark,  further,  that 
one  great  cause  of  this  perversion  of  our  nature  is  a  very 
common  and  fatal  prejudice,  which  leads  men  to  believe 
that  the  degree  of  their  own  virtue  is  proportioned  to  the 
justness  and  the  liveliness  of  their  moral  feelings  ;  where- 
as, in  truth,  virtue  consists  neither  in  liveliness  of  feeling 
nor  in  rectitude  of  judgment,  but  in  an  habitual  regard  to 
our  sense  of  duty  in  the  conduct  of  life.  To  enlighten, 
indeed,  our  conscience  with  respect  to  the  part  which  we 
ourselves  have  to  act,  and  to  cultivate  that  quick  and  deli- 
cate sense  of  propriety  which  may  restrain  us  from  every 
offence,  how  trifling  soever  it  may  appear,  against  the  laws 
of  morality,  is  an  essential  part  of  our  duty  ;  and  what  a 
strong  sense  of  duty,  aided  by  a  sound  understanding,  will 
naturally  lead  to.  But  to  exercise  our  powers  of  moral 
judgment  and  moral  feeling  on  the  character  and  conduct 
of  our  neighbours  is  so  far  from  being  necessarily  con- 
nected with  our  moral  improvement,  that  it  has  frequently 
a  tendency  to  withdraw  our  attention  from  the  real  state 
of  our  own  characters,  and  to  flatter  us  with  a  belief,  that 
the  degree  in  which  we  possess  the  different  virtues  is  pro- 
portioned to  the  indignation  excited  in  our  minds  by  the 
want  of  them  in  others.  That  this  rule  of  judgment  is  at 
least  not  infallible  may  be  inferred  from  the  common  ob- 
servation, (justified  by  the  experience  of  every  man  who 
has  paid  any  attention  to  human  life,)  that  the  most  scru- 
pulous men  in  their  own  conduct  are  generally  the  most 
indulgent  to  the  faults  of  their  fellow-creatures.  1  will 
not  go  quite  so  far  as  to  assert,  with  Dr.  Hutcheson,  (al- 
though I  believe  his  remark  has  much  foundation  in  truth,) 
that  "  men  have  commonly  the  good  or  the  bad  qualities 
which  they  ascribe  to  mankind."  I  shall  content  myself 
with  repeating,  after  Mr.  Addison,  that,  "  among  all  the 
monstrous  characters  in  human  nature,  there  is  none  so 

*  See  p.  249  of  this  volume. 
32* 


378  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

odious,  nor,  indeed,  so  exquisitely  ridiculous,  as  that  of  a 
rigid,  severe  temper  in  a  worthless  man  ";  *  —  an  observa- 
tion which,  from  the  manner  in  which  he  states  it,  evi- 
dently shows  that  he  did  not  consider  this  union  as  a  very 
rare  occurrence  among  the  numberless  inconsistencies  in 
our  moral  judgments  and  habits. 

But  what  we  are  chiefly  concerned  at  present  to  remark 
is  the  tendency  of  a  censorious  disposition  with  respect  to 
our  own  happiness.  That  favorable  opinions  of  our  spe- 
cies, and  those  benevolent  affections  towards  them  which 
such  opinions  produce,  are  sources  of  exquisite  enjoyment 
to  those  who  entertain  them,  no  person  will  dispute.  But 
there  are  two  very  different  ways  in  which  men  set  about 
the  attainment  of  this  satisfaction.  One  set  of  men  aim 
at  modelling  the  world  to  their  own  wish,  and  repine  in 
proportion  to  the  disappointments  they  experience  in  their 
plans  of  general  reformation.  Another,  while  they  do 
what  they  can  to  improve  their  fellow-creatures,  consider 
it  as  their  chief  business  to  watch  over  their  own  charac- 
ters ;  and  as  they  cannot  succeed  to  their  wish  in  making 
mankind  what  they  ought  to  be,  they  study  to  accommo- 
date their  views  and  feelings  to  the  order  of  Providence. 
They  exert  their  ingenuity  in  apologizing  for  folly  and 
misconduct,  and  are  always  more  disposed  to  praise  than 
to  blame  :  and  when  they  see  unquestionable  and  un- 
pardonable delinquencies,  they  avail  themselves  of  such 
occurrences,  not  as  occasions  for  venting  indignation  and 
abuse,  but  as  lessons  of  admonition  to  themselves,  and  as 
calls  to  attempt  the  amendment  of  the  delinquent  by  gentle 
and  friendly  remonstrances.  Of  these  two  plans,  it  is  easy 
to  see  that  the  one,  while  it  appears  flattering  to  the  indo- 
lence of  the  individual,  (because  it  requires  no  efforts  of 
self-denial,)  must  necessarily  engage  him  in  impracticable 
and  hopeless  efforts.  The  other,  although  it  requires 
force  of  mind  to  put  it  in  execution,  is  within  the  reach 
of  every  man  to  accomplish  in  a  degree  highly  important 
to  his  own  character  and  to  his  own  comfort.  This,  in- 
deed, I  apprehend,  is  the  great  secret  of  happiness,  —  to 
study  to  accommodate  our  own  minds  to  things  external, 


*  Spectator,  No.  169. 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  TEMPER.  379 

rather  than  to  accommodate  things  external  to  ourselves  ; 
and  there  are  no  instances  in  which  the  practice  of  the 
rule  is  of  more  consequence  than  in  our  intercourse 
with  our  fellow-creatures.  Let  us  do  what  we  can  to 
amend  them,  but  let  us  trust  for  our  happiness  to  what 
depends  on  ourselves.  Nor  is  there  any  delusion  neces- 
sary for  this  purpose  ;  for  the  fairest  views  of  human  char- 
acter are  in  truth  the  justest  ;  and  the  more  intimately 
we  know  mankind,  the  less  we  shall  be  misled  by  the  par- 
tialities of  pride  and  self-love,  and  the  more  shall  we  be 
disposed  to  acknowledge  the  merits,  and  to  pardon  the 
frailties,  of  others. 

Another  expedient  of  very  powerful  effect  is  to  suppress, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  external  signs  of  peevishness  or  of 
violence.  So  intimate  is  the  connection  between  mind 
and  body,  that  the  mere  imitation  of  any  strong  expression 
has  a  tendency  to  excite  the  corresponding  passion  ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  suppression  of  the  external  sign  has 
a  tendency  to  compose  the  passion  which  it  indicates.  It 
is  said  of  Socrates,  that,  whenever  he  felt  the  passion  of 
resentment  rising  in  his  mind,  he  became  instantly  silent ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt,  that,  by  observing  this  rule,  he  not 
only  avoided  many  an  occasion  of  giving  offence  to  others, 
but  added  much  to  the  comfort  of  his  own  life,  by  killing 
the  seeds  of  those  malignant  affections  which  are  the  great 
bane  of  human  happiness. 

Something  of  the  same  kind,  though  proceeding  from  a 
less  worthy  motive,  we  may  see  daily  exemplified  in  the 
case  of  those  men  who  are  peevish  and  unhappy  in  their 
own  families,  while  in  the  company  of  strangers  they  are 
good-humored  and  cheerful.  At  home  they  give  vent  to 
all  their  passions  without  restraint,  and  exasperate  their 
original  irritability  by  the  reaction  of  that  bodily  agitation 
which  it  occasions.  In  promiscuous  society  the  restraints 
of  ceremony  render  this  impossible.  They  find  them- 
selves obliged  to  conceal  studiously  whatever  emotions  of 
dissatisfaction  they  may  feel,  and  soon  come  to  experi- 
ence, in  fact,  that  gentle  and  accommodating  temper  of 
which  they  have  been  striving  to  counterfeit  the  appearance. 

The  influence  of  the  temper  on  happiness  is  much  in- 
creased by  another  circumstance  ;  that  the  same  causes 


380  nnriES  TO  OURSELVES. 

which  alienate  our  affections  from  our  fellow-creatures  are 
apt  to  suggest  unfavorable  views  of  the  course  of  human 
affairs,  and  lead  the  mind  by  an  easy  transition  to  gloomy 
conceptions  of  the  general  order  of  the  universe.  In  this 
state  of  mind,  when,  in  the  language  of  Hamlet,  "  JWan 
delights  me  nof,"  the  sentiment  of  misanthropy  seldom 
fails  to  be  accompanied  with  that  dark  and  hopeless  phi- 
losophy which  Shakspeare  has,  with  such  exquisite 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  described  as  springing  up 
with  it  from  the  same  root.  "  This  goodly  frame,  the 
earth,  appears  a  sterile  promontory  ;  —  this  majestical  roof, 
fretted  with  golden  fire,  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation 
of  vapors  ;  —  and  Man  himself,  —  noble  in  reason,  infinite 
in  faculties,  —  this  beauty  of  the  world,  this  paragon  of 
animals,  —  seems  but  the  quintessence  of  dust."  Such  a 
temper  and  such  views  are  not  only  to  the  possessor  the 
completion  of  wretchedness,  but,  by  the  proofs  they  ex- 
hibit of  insensibility  and  ingratitude  towards  the  Great 
Source  of  happiness  and  perfection,  they  argue  some  de- 
fect in  those  moral  feelings  to  which  many  men  lay  claim, 
who  affect  an  indifference  to  all  serious  impressions  and 
sentiments.  They  argue  at  least  what  Milton  has  finely 
called  a  "  sullenness  against  nature,"  —  a  disposition  of 
mind  which  no  man  could  possibly  feel  whose  temper  was 
rightly  constituted  towards  his  fellow-creatures.  How 
congenial  to  the  best  emotions  of  the  heart  is  the  follow- 
ing sentiment  in  his  Tractate  on  Education!  "  In  those 
vernal  seasons  of  the  year,  when  the  air  is  soft  and  pleas- 
ant, it  were  an  injury  and  sullenness  against  Nature  not  to 
go  out  and  see  her  riches,  and  partake  in  her  rejoicings 
with  heaven  and  earth." 

III.  (2.)  Influence  of  the  Imagination  on  Happiness.] 
One  of  the  principal  effects  of  a  liberal  education  is  to  ac- 
custom us  to  withdraw  our  attention  from  the  objects  of 
our  present  perceptions,  and  to  dwell  at  pleasure  on  the 
past,  the  absent,  and  the  future.  How  much  it  must  en- 
large in  this  way  the  sphere  of  our  enjoyment  or  suffering 
is  obvious  ;  for,  (not  to  mention  the  recollection  of  the 
past)  all  that  part  of  our  happiness  or  misery  which  arises 
from  our  hopes  or  our  fears  derives  its  existence  entirely 
from  the  power  of  imagination. 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  IMAGINATION.  381 

It  is  not,  however,  from  education  alone  that  the  dif- 
ferences among  individuals  in  respect  of  this  faculty  seem 
to  arise.  Even  among  those  who  have  enjoyed  the  same 
advantages  of  mental  culture,  we  find  some  men  in  whom 
it  never  makes  any  considerable  appearance,  —  men  whose 
thoughts  seem  to  be  completely  engrossed  with  the  objects 
and  events  with  which  their  senses  are  conversant,  and  on 
whose  minds  the  impressions  produced  by  what  is  absent 
and  future  are  so  comparatively  languid,  that  they  seldom 
or  never  excite  their  passions  or  arrest  their  attention.  In 
others,  again,  the  coloring  which  imagination  throws  on 
the  objects  they  conceive  is  so  brilliant,  that  even  the  pres- 
ent impressions  of  sense  are  unable  to  stand  the  compari- 
son ;  and  the  thoughts  are  perpetually  wandering  from  this 
world  of  realities  to  fairy  scenes  of  their  own  creation.  In 
such  men,  the  imagination  is  the  principal  source  of  their 
pleasurable  or  painful  sensations,  and  their  happiness  or 
misery  is  in  a  great  measure  determined  by  the  gay  or 
melancholy  cast  which  this  faculty  has  derived  from  origi- 
nal constitution,  or  from  acquired  habits. 

When  the  hopes  or  the  fears  which  imagination  inspires 
prevail  over  the  present  importunity  of  our  sensual  appe- 
tites, it  is  a  proof  of  the  superiority  which  the  intellectual 
part  of  our  character  has  acquired  over  the  animal  ;  and  as 
the  course  of  life  which  wisdom  and  virtue  prescribe  re- 
quires frequently  a  sacrifice  of  the  present  to  the  future, 
a  warm  and  vigorous  imagination  is  sometimes  of  essential 
use,  by  exhibiting  those  lively  prospects  of  solid  and  per- 
manent happiness  which  may  counteract  the  allurements  of 
present  pleasure.  In  those  who  are  enslaved  completely 
by  their  sensual  appetites,  imagination  may  indeed  operate 
in  anticipating  future  gratification,  or  it  may  blend  itself 
with  memory  in  the  recollection  of  past  enjoyment  ;  but 
where  this  is  the  case,  imagination  is  so  far  from  answer- 
ing its  intended  purpose,  that  it  establishes  an  unnatural 
alliance  between  our  intellectual  powers  and  our  animal  de- 
sires, and  extends  the  empire  of  the  latter,  by  filling  up 
the  intervals  of  actual  indulgence  with  habits  of  thought, 
more  degrading  and  ruinous,  if  possible,  to  the  rational 
part  of  our  being,  than  the  time  which  is  employed  in 
criminal  gratification. 


382  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

In  mentioning,  however,  the  influence  of  imagination  on 
happiness,  what  I  had  chiefly  in  view  was  the  addition 
which  is  made  to  our  enjoyments  or  sufferings,  on  the 
whole,  by  the  predominance  of  hope  or  of  fear  in  the  habit- 
ual state  of  our  minds.  One  man  is  continually  led,  by 
the  complexion  of  his  temper,  to  forebode  evil  to  himself 
and  to  the  world  ;  while  another,  after  a  thousand  disap- 
pointments, looks* forward  to  the  future  with  exultation, 
and  feels  his  confidence  in  Providence  unshaken.  One 
principal  cause  of  such  differences  is  undoubtedly  the  natu- 
ral constitution  of  the  mind  in  point  of  fortitude. 

It  may  be  worth  while  here  to  remark,  that  what  we 
properly  call  cowardice  is  entirely  a  disease  of  the  imagi- 
nation. It  does  not  always  imply  an  impatience  under 
present  suffering.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  frequently  ob- 
served in  men  who  submit  quietly  to  the  evils  which 
they  have  actually  experienced,  and  of  which  they  have 
thus  learned  to  measure  the  extent  with  accuracy.  Nay, 
there  are  cases  in  which  patience  is  the  offspring  of  cow- 
ardice^ the  imagination  magnifying  future  dangers  to  such 
a  degree  as  to  render  present  sufferings  comparatively  in- 
significant. Men  of  this  description  always  judge  it  safer 
to  "bear  the  ills  they  know,  than  fly  to  others  that  they 
know  not  of,"  and,  of  consequence,  when  under  the 
pressure  of  pain  and  disease,  scruple  to  employ  those  vig- 
orous remedies,  which,  while  they  give  them  a  chance  for 
recovery,  threaten  them  with  the  possibility  of  a  more  im- 
minent danger.  The  brave,  on  the  contrary,  are  not  al- 
ways patient  under  distress  ;  and  they  sometimes,  perhaps, 
owe  their  bravery  in  part  to  this  impatience.  We  may 
remark  an  apt  illustration  of  this  observation  in  the  two 
sexes.  The  male  is  more  courageous,  but  more  impa- 
tient of  suffering  ;  the  female  more  timid,  but  more  re- 
signed and  serene  under  severe  pain  and  affliction. 

Allowance  being  made  for  constitutional  biases,  the  two 
great  sources  of  a  desponding  imagination  are  superstition 
and  skepticism.  Of  the  former,  the  unhappy  victims 
are  many,  and  have  been  so  in  all  ages  of  the  world,  al- 
though their  number  may  be  expected  gradually  to  diminish 
in  proportion  to  the  progress  and  the  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge. All  of  us,  however,  have  had  an  opportunity  of 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  IMAGINATION.  383 

witnessing  enough  of  its  effects  in  those  remains  which  are 
still  to  be  found,  in  many  parts  of  this  country,  of  the  old 
prejudices  with  respect  to  apparitions  and  spectres,  to  be 
able  to  form  an  idea  of  what  mankind  must  have  suffered 
in  the  ages  of  Gothic  ignorance,  when  these  weaknesses 
of  the  uninformed  mind  were  skilfully  made  use  of  by  an 
ambitious  priesthood  as  an  engine  of  ecclesiastical  policy. 
Skepticism,  too,  when  carried  to  an  extreme,  can  scarcely 
fail  to  produce  similar  effects.  As  it  encourages  the 
notion  that  all  events  are  regulated  by  chance,  if  it  does 
not  alarm  the  mind  with  terror,  it  extinguishes  at  least 
every  ray  of  hope  ;  and  such  is  the  restless  activity  of  the 
mind,  that  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the  agitation  of 
fear  be  a  source  of  more  complete  wretchedness  than  that 
listlessness  which  deprives  us  of  all  interest  about  futurity, 
and  represents  to  us  the  present  moment  alone  as  ours. 
Nor  is  this  all.  A  complete  skepticism  is  so  unnatural  a 
state  to  the  human  understanding,  that  it  was  probably 
never  realized  in  any  one  instance.  Nay,  I  believe  it  will 
generally  be  found,  that,  in  proportion  to  the  violence  of 
a  man's  disbelief  on  those  important  subjects  which  are 
essential  to  human  happiness,  the  more  extravagant  is  his 
credulity  on  other  articles,  where  the  fashion  of  the  times 
does  not  brand  credulity  as  a  weakness  ;  for  the  mind 
must  have  something  distinct  from  the  objects  of  sense  on 
which  to  repose  itself;  and  those  principles  of  our  nature 
on  which  religion  is  founded,  if  they  are  prevented  from 
developing  themselves  under  the  direction  of  an  enlighten- 
ed reason,  will  infallibly  disclose  themselves,  in  one  way 
or  another,  in  the  character  and  the  conduct. 

Of  this  no  stronger  proof  can  be  produced,  than  that  the 
same  period  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  the  same  part 
of  Europe,  which  were  most  distinguished  by  the  triumphs 
of  a  skeptical  philosophy,  were  also  distinguished  by  a 
credulity  so  extraordinary,  as  to  encourage  and  support  a 
greater  number  of  visionaries  and  impostors  than  had  ap- 
peared since  the  time  of  the  revival  of  letters.  The  pre- 
tenders to  animal  magnetism,  and  the  revivers  of  the  Rosi- 
crucian  mysteries,  are  but  two  instances  out  of  many  that 
might  be  mentioned. 

Such,  then,  are  the  miseries  of  ill-regulated  imagina- 


384  DUTIES   TO    OURSELVES. 

lion,  whether  arising  from  constitutional  biases  or  from 
the  acquisition  of  erroneous  opinions  ;  and  they  are  mis- 
eries which,  when  they  affect  habitually  the  state  of  the 
mind,  are  sufficient  to  poison  all  the  enjoyments  which 
fortune  can  offer.  To  those,  on  the  contrary,  whose 
education  has  been  fortunately  conducted,  this  faculty 
opens  inexhaustible  sources  of  delight,  presenting  con- 
tinually to  their  thoughts  the  fairest  views  of  mankind  and 
of  Providence,  and,  under  the  deepest  gloom  of  adverse 
fortune,  gilding  the  prospects  of  futurity. 

I  have  remarked,  in  the  first  volume  of  my  Philosophy 
of  the  Human  »Mind,  that  what  we  call  sensibility  depends 
in  a  great  measure  on  the  degree  of  imagination  we  pos- 
sess ;  and  hence,  in  such  a  world  as  ours,  checkered  as  it 
is  with  good  and  evil,  there  must  be  in  every  mind  a  mix- 
ture of  pleasure  and  of  pain,  proportioned  to  the  interest 
which  imagination  leads  it  to  take  in  the  fortunes  of  man- 
kind. It  is  even  natural  and  reasonable  for  a  benevolent 
disposition,  (notwithstanding  what  Mr.  Smith  has  so  in- 
geniously alleged  to  the  contrary,*)  to  dwell  more  habitu- 
ally on  the  gloomy  than  on  the  gay  aspect  of  human  af- 
fairs ;  for  the  fortunate  stand  in  no  need  of  our  assistance  ; 
while,  amidst  the  distractions  of  our  own  personal  con- 
cerns, the  wretched  require  all  the  assistance  which  our 
imagination  can  lend  them,  to  engage  our  attention  to  their 
distresses.  In  this  sympathy,  however,  with  the  general 
sufferings  of  humanity,  the  pleasure  far  overbalances  the 
pain  ;  not  only  on  account  of  that  secret  charm  which  ac- 
companies all  the  modifications  of  benevolence,  but  be- 
cause it  is  they  alone  whose  prospects  of  futurity  are  san- 
guine, and  whose  confidence  in  the  final  triumph  of  reason 
and  of  justice  is  linked  with  all  the  best  principles  of  the 
heart,  who  are  likely  to  make  a  common  cause  with  the 
oppressed  and  the  miserable.  This,  therefore,  (although 
we  frequently  apply  to  it  the  epithet  melancholy,)  is,  on  the 
whole,  a  happy  state  of  mind,  and  has  no  connection  with 
what  we  commonly  call  low  spirits,  —  a  disease  where  the 
pain  is  unmixed,  and  which  is  always  accompanied,  either 
as  a  cause  or  effect,  by  the  most  intolerable  of  all  feelings, 

*  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  III.  Chap.  iii. 


MEANS    OP    HAPPINESS.  IMAGINATION.  385 

a  sentiment  of  self-dissatisfaction  ;  whereas  the  temper  I 
have  now  alluded  to  is  felt  only  by  those  who  are  at  peace 
with  themselves  and  with  the  whole  world.  Such  is  that 
species  of  melancholy  which  Thomson  has  so  patheti- 
cally described  as  exerting  a  peculiar  influence  at  that 
season  of  the  year  (his  own  favorite  and  inspiring  season) 
when  the  "  dark  winds  of  autumn  return,"  and  when  the 
falling  leaves  and  the  naked  fields  fill  the  heart  at  once 
with  mournful  presages,  and  with  tender  recollections. 

"  He  comes !  lie  comes  !  in  every  breeze  the  Power 
Of  philosophic  melancholy  comes  ! 
His  near  approach  the  sudden  starting  tear, 
The  glowing  cheek,  the  mild,  dejected  air, 
The  softened  feature,  and  the  beating  heart, 
Pierced  deep  with  many  a  virtuous  pang,  declare. 
O'er  all  the  soul  his  sacred  influence  breathes; 
Inflames  imagination  ;  through  the  breast 
Infuses  every  tenderness;  and  far 
Beyond  dim  earth  exalts  the  swelling  thought." 

It  will  not,  I  think,  be  denied,  that  an  imagination  of 
the  cast  here  described,  while  it  has  an  obvious  tendency 
to  refine  the  taste  and  to  exalt  the  character,  enlarges  very 
widely,  in  the  man  who  possesses  it,  the  sphere  of  his  en- 
joyment. It  is,  however,  no  less  indisputable,  that  this 
faculty  requires  an  uncommon  share  of  good  sense  to  keep 
it  under  proper  regulation,  and  to  derive  from  it  the  pleas- 
ures it  was  intended  to  afford,  without  suffering  it  either 
to  mislead  the  judgment  in  the  conduct  of  life,  or  to  im- 
pair our  relish  for  the  moderate  gratifications  which  are 
provided  for  our  present  condition. 

The  inconveniences  of  an  ill-regulated  imagination  have 
appeared  to  some  philosophers  to  be  so  alarming,  that  they 
have  concluded  it  to  be  one  of  the  most  essential  objects 
of  education  to  repress  as  much  as  possible  this  dangerous 
faculty.  But  in  this,  as  in  other  instances,  it  is  in  vain  to 
counteract  the  purposes  of  Nature  ;  and  all  that  human 
wisdom  ought  to  attempt  is  to  study  the  ends  which  she 
has  apparently  in  view,  and  to  cooperate  with  the  means 
which  she  has  provided  for  their  attainment.  The  very 
argument  on  which  these  philosophers  have  proceeded 
justifies  the  remark  I  have  now  made,  and  encourages  us 
to  follow  out  the  plan  I  have  recommended  ;  for  surely 
33 


386  DUTIES   TO  OURSELVES. 

the  more  cruel  the  effects  of  a  deranged  imagination,  the 
happier  are  the  consequences  to  be  expected  from  this 
part  of  our  constitution,  if  properly  regulated,  and  if  direct- 
ed to  its  destined  purposes  hy  good  sense  and  philosophy. 
It  is  justly  remarked  by  an  author  in  the  Taller,*  as  an 
acknowledged  fact,  that,  "  of  all  writings,  licentious  poems 
do  soonest  corrupt  the  heart.  And  why,"  continues  he, 
41  should  we  not  be  as  universally  persuaded  that  the  grave 
and  serious  performances  of  such  as  write  in  the  most  en- 
gaging manner,  by  a  kind  of  Divine  impulse,  must  be  the 
most  effectual  persuasive  to  goodness  ?  The  most  active 
principle  in  our  mind  is  the  imagination.  To  it  a  good 
poet  makes  his  court  perpetually,  and  by  this  faculty  takes 
care  to  gain  it  first.  Our  passions  and  inclinations  come 
over  next,  and  our  reason  surrenders  itself  with  pleasure 
in  the  end.  Thus  the  whole  soul  is  insensibly  betrayed 
into  morality,  by  bribing  the  fancy  with  beautiful  and 
agreeable  images  of  those  very  things  that,  in  the  books 
of  the  philosophers,  appear  austere,  and  have  at  the  best 
but  a  kind  of  forbidding  aspect.  In  a  word,  the  poets 
do,  as  it  were,  strew  the  rough  paths  of  virtue  so  full  of 
flowers,  that  we  are  not  sensible  of  the  uneasiness  of  them, 
and  imagine  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  pleasures,  and  the 
most  bewitching  allurements,  at  the  time  we  are  making  a 
progress  in  the  severest  duties  of  life." 

Even  in  those  men,  however,  whose  education  has  not 
been  so  systematically  conducted,  and  whose  associations 
have  been  formed  by  accident,  notwithstanding  the  many 
acute  sufferings  to  which  they  may  be  exposed,  I  am  per- 
suaded that  (except  in  some  very  rare  combinations  of 
circumstances)  this  part  of  our  constitution  is  a  more 
copious  source  of  pleasure  than  of  pain.  After  all  the 
complaints  that  have  been  made  of  the  peculiar  distresses 
incident  to  cultivated  minds,  who  would  exchange  the  sen- 
sibility of  his  intellectual  and  moral  being  for  the  apathy  of 
those  whose  only  avenues  of  pleasure  and  pain  are  to  be 
found  in  their  animal  nature,  — who  "move  thoughtlessly 
in  the  narrow  circle  of  their  existence,  and  to  whom  the 
falling  leaves  present  no  idea  but  that  of  approaching 
winter  "  ? 

•  No.  98. 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  OPINIONS.  387 

I  shall  conclude  these  very  imperfect  hints  on  a  most 
important  subject  with  remarking  the  inefficacy  of  mere 
reasoning  or  argument,  in  correcting  the  effects  of  early 
impressions  and  prejudices.  More  is  to  be  expected  from 
the  opposite  associations,  which  may  be  gradually  formed 
by  a  new  course  of  studies  and  of  occupations,  or  by  a 
complete  change  of  scenes,  of  habits,  and  of  society. 

IV.  (3\)  Influence  of  Opinions  on  Happiness,]  By 
opinions  are  here  meant,  not  merely  speculative  conclu- 
sions to  which  we  give  our  assent,  but  convictions  which 
have  taken  root  in  the  mind,  and  exert  a  constant  and 
abiding  influence  on  our  dispositions  and  conduct. 

Of  these  opinions  a  very  great  and  important  part  are, 
in  the  case  of  all  mankind,  interwoven  by  education  with 
their  first  habits  of  thinking,  or  are  insensibly  imbibed 
from  the  manners  of  the  times. 

Where  such  opinions  are  erroneous,  they  may  often  be 
corrected  to  a  great  degree  by  the  persevering  efforts  of  a 
reflecting  and  vigorous  mind  ;  but  as  the  number  of  minds 
capable  of  reflection  is  comparatively  small,  it  becomes  a 
duty  on  all  who  have  themselves  experienced  the  happy 
effects  of  juster  and  more  elevated  views,  to  impart,  as 
far  as  they  are  able,  the  same  blessing  to  others.  The 
subject  is  of  too  great  extent  to  be  here  prosecuted  ;  but 
the  reader  will  find  it  discussed  at  great  length  in  a  very 
valuable  section  of  Dr.  Ferguson's  Principles  of  Moral 
and  Political  Science.* 

Of  the  doctrines  contained  in  this  section,  the  following 
abstract  is  given  by  the  same  writer  in  his  Institutes  of 
Moral  Philosophy. 

"  It  is  unhappy  to  lay  the  pretensions  of  human  nature 
so  low  as  to  check  its  exertions.  The  despair  of  virtue 
is  still  more  unhappy  than  the  despair  of  knowledge. 

"  It  is  unhappy  to  entertain  notions  of  what  men  ac- 
tually are,  so  high  as,  upon  trial  and  disappointment,  to 
run  into  the  opposite  extreme  of  distrust. 

"  It  is  unhappy  to  rest  our  own  choice  of  good  qualities 
on  the  supposition,  that  we  are  to  meet  with  such  qualities 

*  Part  II.  Chap.  i.  Sect.  viii. 


338  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

in  other  men  ;  or  to  apprehend  that  want  of  merit  in  other 
men  will  dispense  with  that  justice  or  liherality  of  conduct 
which  we  ought  to  maintain. 

"  It  is  unhappy  to  consider  perfection  as  the  standard 
by  which  we  are  to  censure  others,  not  as  the  rule  by 
which  we  are  to  conduct  ourselves. 

u  It  is  a  wretched  opinion,  that  happiness  consists  in  a 
freedom  from  trouble,  or  in  having  nothing  to  do.  In 
consequence  of  this  opinion,  men  complain  of  what  might 
employ  them  agreeably.  By  declining  every  duty  and 
every  active  engagement,  they  render  life  a  burden,  and 
then  complain  that  it  is  so.  By  declining  business  to  go 
in  search  of  amusement,  they  reject  what  is  fitted  to  oc- 
cupy them,  and  search  in  vain  for  something  else  to  quick- 
ed  the  languor  of  a  vacant  mind. 

"  It  is  therefore  unhappy  to  entertain  an  opinion,  that 
any  thing  can  amuse  us  better  than  the  duties  of  our  sta- 
tion, or  than  that  which  we  are  in  the  present  moment 
called  upon  to  do. 

"  It  is  an  unhappy  opinion,  that  beneficence  is  an  effort 
of  self-denial,  or  that  we  lay  our  fellow-creatures  under 
great  obligations  by  the  kindness  we  do  them. 

"  It  is  an  unhappy  opinion,  that  any  thing  whatever  is 
preferable  to  happiness."* 

On  the  other  hand,  "  it  is  happy,"  continues  the  same 
author,  "  to  value  personal  qualities  above  every  other 
consideration,  and  to  state  perfection  as  a  guide  to  our- 
selves, not  as  a  rule  by  which  to  censure  others. 

"It  is  happy  to  rely  on  what  is  in  our  own  power  ;  to 
value  the  characters  of  a  worthy,  benevolent,  and  strenuous 

*  In  illustration  of  this  last  remark,  Dr.  Ferguson  quotes  in  a  note  the 
following  passage  from  the  Tatlr.r :  — "  There  is  hardly  a  man  to  be 
found,  who  would  not  rather  be  in  pain  to  appear  happy,  than  be  really 
happy  to  appear  miserable." 

The  author  of  the  Fable  of  the  Bees  (see  Remark  M.)  has  also  said, — 
"There  is  nothing  so  ravishing  to  the  proud,"  (he  should  have  said  to 
the  vain,)  "  as  to  be  thought  happy." 

Does  not  this  general  anxiety  to  assume  the  appearance  of  happiness 
proceed  from  the  universal  conviction  of  the  connection  between  happi- 
ness and  virtue  ?  By  counterfeiting  the  outward  signs  of  happiness,  a 
vain  man,  without  any  offensive  violation  of  modesty,  lays  claim  indi- 
rectly to  all  those  moral  qualities  of  which  happiness  is  commonly  un- 
derstood to  be  the  fruit  and  the  reward. 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  OPINIONS.  389 

mind,  not  as  a  form  merely  to  be  observed  in  our  con- 
duct, but  as  the  completion  of  what  we  have  to  wish  for  in 
human  life,  and  to  consider  the  debasements  of  a  malicious 
and  cowardly  nature  as  the  extreme  misery  to  which  we 
are  exposed. 

"  It  is  happy  to  have  continually  in  view,  that  we  are 
members  of  society,  and  of  the  community  of  mankind  ; 
that  we  are  instruments  in  the  hand  of  God  for  the  good 
of  his  creatures  ;  that,  if  we  are  ill  members  of  society,  or 
unwilling  instruments  in  the  hand  of  God,  we  do  our  ut- 
most to  counteract  our  nature,  to  quit  our  station,  and  to 
undo  ourselves. 

"  '/  am  in  the  station  which  God  has  assigned  we,'  says 
Epictetus.  With  this  reflection,  a  man  may  be  happy  in 
every  station  ;  without  it,  he  cannot  be  happy  in  any.  Is 
not  the  appointment  of  God  sufficient  to  outweigh  every 
other  consideration  ?  This  rendered  the  condition  of  a 
slave  agreeable  to  Epictetus,  and  that  of  a  monarch  to 
Antoninus.  This  consideration  renders  any  situation 
agreeable  to  a  rational  nature,  which  delights  not  in  partial 
interests,  but  in  universal  good." 

This  excellent  passage  contains  a  summary  of  the  most 
valuable  principles  of  the  Stoical  school.  One  of  their 
doctrines,  however,  I  could  have  wished  that  Dr.  Fer- 
guson had  touched  upon  with  his  masterly  hand  ;  I  mean 
that  which  relates  to  the  inconsistencies  which  most  men 
fall  into  in  their  expectations  of  happiness,  as  well  as  in 
the  estimates  they  form  of  the  prosperity  of  others.  The 
following  quotation  from  Epictetus  will  explain  sufficiently 
the  doctrine  to  which  I  allude. 

"  What  is  more  reasonable  than  that  they  who  take 
pains  for  any  thing  should  get  most  in  that  particular  for 
which  they  take  pains  ?  They  have  taken  pains  for 
power,  you  for  right  principles  ;  they  for  riches,  you  for 
a  proper  use  of  the  appearances  of  things.  See  whether 
they  have  the  advantage  of  you  in  that  for  which  you  have 
taken  pains,  and  which  they  neglect.  If  they  are  in  power 
and  you  not,  why  will  you  not  speak  the  truth  to  yourself, 
that  you  do  nothing  for  the  sake  of  power,  but  that  they 
do  every  thing  ?  '  No,  but  since  I  take  care  to  have  right 
principles,  it  is  more  reasonable  that  I  should  have  power.' 
33* 


390  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

Yes,  in  respect  to  what  you  take  care  about,  —  your  prin- 
ciples. But  give  up  to  others  the  things  in  which  they 
have  taken  more  care  than  you.  Else  it  is  just  as  if,  be- 
cause you  have  right  principles,  you  should  think  it  fit 
that,  when  you  shoot  an  arrow,  you  should  hit  the  mark 
better  than  an  archer,  or  that  you  should  forge  better  than 
a  smith." 

Upon  the  foregoing  passage  a  very  ingenious  and  elegant 
writer,  Mrs.  Barbauld,  has  written  a  commentary  so  full 
of  good  sense  and  of  important  practical  morality,  that  I 
am  sure  I  run  no  hazard  of  trespassing  on  the  patience  of 
the  reader  by  the  length  of  the  following  extracts. 

"  As  most  of  the  unhappiness  in  the  world  arises  rather 
from  disappointed  desires  than  from  positive  evil,  it  is  of 
the  utmost  consequence  to  attain  just  notions  of  the  laws 
and  order  of  the  universe,  that  we  may  not  vex  ourselves 
with  fruitless  wishes,  or  give  way  to  groundless  and  un- 
reasonable discontent We  should  consider  this 

world  as  a  great  mart  of  commerce,  where  fortune  exposes 
to  our  view  various  commodities,  riches,  ease,  tranquillity, 
fame,  integrity,  knowledge.  Every  thing  is  marked  at  a 
settled  price.  Our  time,  our  labor,  our  ingenuity,  is  so 
much  ready  money,  which  we  are  to  lay  out  to  the  best 
advantage.  Examine,  compare,  choose,  reject  ;  but  stand 
to  your  own  judgment,  and  do  not,  like  children,  when 
you  have  purchased  one  thing,  repine  that  you  do  not  pos- 
sess another  which  you  did  not  purchase.  Such  is  the 
force  of  well-regulated  industry,  that  a  steady  and  vigorous 
exertion  of  our  faculties,  directed  to  one  end,  will  gener- 
ally insure  success.  Would  you,  for  instance,  be  rich  ? 
Do  you  think  that  single  point  worth  the  sacrificing  every 
thing  else  to  ?  You  may,  then,  be  rich.  Thousands  have 
become  so  from  the  lowest  beginnings,  from  toil  and  patient 
diligence,  and  attention  to  the  minutest  articles  of  expense 
and  profit.  But  you  must  give  up  the  pleasures  of  leisure, 
of  a  vacant  mind,  of  a  free,  unsuspicious  temper.  If  you 
preserve  your  integrity,  it  must  be  a  coarse-spun  and  vul- 
gar honesty.  Those  high  and  lofty  notions  of  morals 
which  you  brought  with  you  from  the  schools  must  be 
considerably  lowered,  and  mixed  with  the  baser  alloy  of  a 
jealous  and  worldly-minded  prudence.  You  must  learn  to 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  HABITS.  391 

do  hard,  if  not  unjust,  things  ;  and  as  for  the  nice  embar- 
rassments of  a  delicate  and  ingenuous  spirit,  it  is  necessary 
for  you  to  get  rid  of  them  as  fast  as  possible.  You  must 
shut  your  heart  against  the  Muses,  and  be  content  to  feed 
your  understanding  with  plain  household  truths.  In  short, 
you  must  not  attempt  to  enlarge  your  ideas,  or  polish  your 
taste,  or  refine  your  sentiments,  but  must  keep  on  in  one 
beaten  track,  without  turning  aside  either  to  the  right  hand 
or  to  the  left.  '  But  I  cannot  submit  to  drudgery  like  this  ; 
I  feel  a  spirit  above  it.'  'T  is  well:  be  above  it  then  ; 

only  do  not  repine  that  you  are  not  rich 

"  '  But  is  it  not  some  reproach  upon  the  economy  of 
Providence,  that  such  a  one,  who  is  a  mean,  dirty  fellow, 
should  have  amassed  wealth  enough  to  buy  half  a  nation  ? ' 
Not  in  the  least.  He  made  himself  a  mean,  dirty  fellow 
for  that  very  end."  * 

V.  (4.)  Influence  of  Habits  on  Happiness. ]  The  effect 
of  habit  in  reconciling  our  minds  to  the  inconveniences  of 
our  situation  was  formerly  remarked,  and  an  argument 
was  drawn  from  it  in  proof  of  the  goodness  of  our  Crea- 
tor, who,  besides  making  so  rich  a  provision  of  objects 
suited  to  the  principles  of  our  nature,  has  thus  bestowed 
on  us  a  power  of  accommodation  to  external  circum- 
stances, which  these  principles  teach  us  to  avoid. 

This  tendency  of  the  mind,  however,  to  adapt  itself  to 
the  objects  with  which  it  is  familiarly  conversant,  may,  in 
some  instances,  not  only  be  a  source  of  occasional  suffer- 
ing, but  may  disqualify  us  for  relishing  the  best  enjoyments 
which  human  life  affords.  The  habits  contracted  during 
infancy  and  childhood  are  so  much  more  inveterate  than 
those  of  our  maturer  years,  that  they  have  been  justly  said 
to  constitute  a  second  nature  ;  and  if,  unfortunately,  they 
have  been  formed  amidst  circumstances  over  which  we 
have  no  control,  they  leave  us  no  security  for  our  happi- 
ness but  the  caprice  of  fortune.  To  habituate  the  minds 
of  children  to  those  occupations  and  enjoyments  alone, 
which  it  is  in  the  power  of  an  individual  at  all  times  to 
command,  is  the  most  solid  foundation  that  can  be  laid  for 
their  future  tranquillity. 

*  Works,  Vol.  II.  p.  21. 


392  DUTIES    TO    OURSELVES. 

Dr.  Paley,  with  that  talent  for  familiar  and  happy  illus- 
tration for  which  he  is  so  justly  celebrated,  has  said  :  — 
"  The  art  in  which  the  secret  of  human  happiness  in  a 
great  measure  consists  is  -to  set  the  habits  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  every  change  may  be  a  change  for  the  better. 
The  habits  themselves  are  much  the  same  ;  for  whatever 
is  made  habitual  becomes  smooth  and  easy,  and  nearly  in- 
different. The  return  to  an  old  habit  is  likewise  easy, 
whatever  the  habit  be.  Therefore  the  advantage  is  with 
those  habits  which  allow  of  indulgence  in  the  deviation 
from  them.  The  luxurious  receive  no  greater  pleasure 
from  their  dainties  than  the  peasant  does  from  his  bread 
and  cheese  ;  but  the  peasant,  whenever  he  goes  abroad, 
finds  a  feast,  whereas  the  epicure  must  be  well  entertam- 
ed  to  escape  disgust.  Those  who  spend  every  day  at 
cards,  and  those  who  go  every  day  to  plough,  pass  their 
time  much  alike  ;  intent  upon  what  they  are  about,  want- 
ing nothing,  regretting  nothing,  they  are  both  for  the  time 
in  a  state"  of  ease  ;  but  then  whatever  suspends  the  occu- 
pation of  the  card-player  distresses  him,  whereas  to  the 
laborer  every  interruption  is  a  refreshment :  and  this  ap- 
pears in  the  different  effect  that  Sunday  produces  on  the 
two,  which  proves  a  day  of  recreation  to  the  one,  but  a 
lamentable  burden  to  the  other.  The  man  who  has  learn- 
ed to  live  alone  feels  his  spirits  enlivened  whenever  he 
enters  into  company,  and  takes  his  leave  without  regret. 
Another,  who  has  long  been  accustomed  to  a  crowd,  ex- 
periences in  company  no  elevation  of  spirits,  nor  any  greater 
satisfaction  than  what  the  man  of  a  retired  life  finds  in  his 
chimney-corner.  So  far  their  conditions  are  equal  ;  but 
let  a  change  of  place,  fortune,  or  situation  separate  the 
companion  from  his  circle,  his  visitors,  his  club,  common 
room,  or  coffee-house,  and  the  difference  of  advantage  in 
the  choice  and  constitution  of  the  two  habits  will  show  it- 
self. Solitude  comes  to  the  one  clothed  with  melancholy  ; 
to  the  other  it  brings  liberty  and  quiet.  You  will  see  the 
one  fretful  and  restle;s,  at  a  loss  how  to  dispose  of  his 
time  till  the  hour  come  round  that  he  can  forget  himself 
in  bed  ;  the  other  easy  and  satisfied,  taking  up  his  book  or 
his  pipe  as  soon  as  he  finds  himself  alone,  ready  to  admit 
any  little  amusement  that  casts  up,  or  to  turn  his  hands 


MEANS    OF    HAPPINESS.  HABITS.  393 

and  attention  to  the  first  business  that  presents  itself,  or, 
content  without  either,  to  sit  still  and  let  his  trains  of 
thought  glide  indolently  through  his  brain,  without  much 
use,  perhaps,  or  pleasure,  but  without  hankering  after  any 
thing  better,  and  without  irritation.  A  reader  who  has 
inured  himself  to  books  of  science  and  argumentation,  if  a 
novel,  a  well-written  pamphlet,  an  article  of  news,  a  nar- 
rative of  a  curious  voyage,  or  the  journal  of  a  traveller, 
comes  in  his  way,  sits  down  to  the  repast  with  relish,  en- 
joys his  entertainment  while  it  lasts,  and  can  return  when 
it  is  over  to  his  graver  reading  without  distaste.  Another, 
with  whom  nothing  will  go  down  but  works  of  humor  and 
pleasantry,  or  whose  curiosity  must  be  interested  by  per- 
petual novelty,  will  consume  a  bookseller's  window  in  half 
a  forenoon,  during  which  time  he  is  rather  in  search  of  di- 
version than  diverted  ;  and  as  books  to  his  taste  are  few 
and  short,  and  rapidly  read  over,  the  stock  is  soon  ex- 
hausted, when  he  is  left  without  resource  from  this  princi- 
pal supply  of  harmless  amusement."* 

As  a  supplement  to  the  remarks  of  Paley,  I  shall  quote 
a  short  passage  from  Montaigne,  containing  an  observation 
relative  to  the  same  subject,  which,  although  stated  in  a 
form  too  unqualified,  seems  to  me  highly  worthy  of  atten- 
tion. "  We  must  not  rivet  ourselves  so  fast  to  our  humors 
and  complexions.  Our  chief  business  is  to  know  how  to 
apply  ourselves  to  various  customs.  For  a  man  to  keep 
himself  tied  and  bound  by  necessity  to  one  only  course  is 
but  bare  existence,  not  living.  It  was  an  honorable  char- 
acter of  the  elder  Cato,  — '  So  versatile  was  his  genius, 
that,  whatever  he  took  in  hand,  you  would  be  apt  to  say 
that  he  was  formed  for  that  very  thing  only.'  Were  I  to 
choose  for  myself,  there  is  no  fashion  so  good  that  I 
should  care  to  be  so  wedded  to  it  as  not  to  have  it  in  my 
power  to  disengage  myself  from  it.  Life  is  a  motion,  un- 
even, irregular,  and  ever  varying  its  direction.  A  man  is 
not  his  own  friend,  much  less  his  own  master,  but  rather 
a  slave  to  himself,  who  is  eternally  pursuing  his  own  hu- 
mor, and  such  a  bigot  to  his  inclinations  that  he  is  not 
able  to  abandon  or  to  alter  them."  f 

*  Moral  Philosophy,  Book  I.  Chap.  vi. 
t  Essays,  Book  III.  Chap.  iii. 


394  DUTIES   TO   OURSELVES. 

The  only  thing  to  be  censured  in  this  passage  is,  that 
the  author  makes  no  distinction  between  good  and  bad 
habits  ;  between  those  which  we  are  induced  to  cultivate 
by  reason,  and  by  the  original  principles  of  our  nature, 
and  those  which  reason  admonishes  us  to  shun,  on  account 
of  the  mischievous  consequences  with  which  they  are  like- 
ly to  be  followed.  With  respect  to  these  two  classes  of 
habits,  considered  in  contrast  with  each  other,  it  is  ex- 
tremely worthy  of  observation,  that  the  former  are  incom- 
parably more  easy  in  the  acquisition  than  the  latter  ;  while 
the  latter,  when  once  acquired,  are  (probably  in  conse- 
quence of  this  very  circumstance,  the  difficulty  of  over- 
coming our  natural  propensities)  of  at  least  equal  efficacy 
in  subjecting  all  the  powers  of  the  will  to  their  dominion. 

Of  the  peculiar  difficulty  of  shaking  off  such  inveterate 
habits  as  were  at  6rst  the  most  repugnant  to  our  taste  and 
inclinations,  we  have  a  daily  and  a  melancholy  proof  in  the 
case  of  those  individuals  who  have  suffered  themselves  to 
become  slaves  to  tobacco,  to  opium,  and  to  other  intoxi- 
cating drugs,  which,  so  far  from  possessing  the  attractions 
of  pleasurable  sensations,  are  in  a  great  degree  revolting  to 
an  unvitiated  palate.  The  same  thing  is  exemplified  in 
many  of  those  acquired  tastes  which  it  is  the  great  object 
of  the  art  of  cookery  to  create  and  to  gratify  ;  and  still 
more  remarkably  in  those  fatal  habits  which  sometimes 
steal  on  the  most  amiable  characters,  under  the  seducing 
form  of  social  enjoyment,  and  of  a  temporary  respite  from 
the  evils  of  life. 

I  am  inclined,  however,  to  think  that  Montaigne  meant 
to  restrict  his  observations  chiefly,  if  not  solely,  to  habits 
which  are  indifferent,  or  nearly  indifferent,  in  their  moral 
tendency,  and  that  all  he  is  to  be  understood  as  asserting 
amounts  to  this,  —  that  we  ought  not,  in  matters  connected 
with  the  accommodations  of  human  life,  to  enslave  our- 
selves to  one  set  of  habits  in  preference  to  another.  In 
this  sense  his  doctrine  is  just  and  important.* 

*  On  the  subject  treated  of  in  this  section,  see  Decorando,  Du  Per~ 
fectionnement  Moral  et  de  V Education  de  soi-mlme.  It  Has  been  translat- 
ed into  English  with  this  title  :  Self-Education ;  or  the  Means  and  Art 
of  Moral  Progrest.  Also,  Carpenter's  Principles  of  Education,  and 
Combe's  Constitution  of  Man.  —  ED. 


BOOK    IV. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE. 


CHAPTER     I. 

OF   THE   GENERAL   DEFINITION   OF   VIRTUE. 

HAVING  taken  a  cursory  survey  of  the  chief  branches 
of  our  duty,  we  are  prepared  to  enter  on  the  general  ques- 
tion concerning  the  nature  and  essence  of  virtue.  In  fix- 
ing on  the  arrangement  of  this  part  of  my  subject,  it  ap- 
peared to  me  more  agreeable  to  the  established  rules  of 
philosophizing,  to  consider,  first,  our  duties  in  detail  ;  and 
after  having  thus  laid  a  solid  foundation  in  the  way  of 
analysis,  to  attempt  to  rise  to  the  general  idea  in  which  all 
our  duties  concur,  than  to  circumscribe  our  inquiries,  at 
our  first  outset,  within  the  limits  of  an  arbitrary  and  partial 
definition.  What  I  have  now  to  offer,  therefore,  will  con- 
sist of  little  more  than  some  obvious  and  necessary  conse- 
quences from  principles  which  have  been  already  stated. 

The  various  duties  which  have  been  considered  all 
agree  with  each  other  in  one  common  quality,  that  of  be- 
ing obligatory  on  rational  and  voluntary  agents  ;  and  they 
are  all  enjoined  by  the  same  authority,  —  the  authority  of 
conscience.  These  duties,  therefore,  are  but  different 
articles  of  one  /ate,  which  is  properly  expressed  by  the 
word  virtue. 

As  all  the  virtues  are  enjoined  by  the  same  authority, 
(the  authority  of  conscience,)  the  man  whose  ruling  prin- 
ciple of  action  is  a  sense  of  duty  will  observe  all  the  dif- 
ferent virtues  with  the  same  reverence  and  the  same  zeal. 
He  who  lives  in  the  habitual  neglect  of  any  one  of  them 
shows  plainly,  that,  where  his  conduct  happens  to  coincide 


396  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

with  what  the  rules  of  morality  prescribe,  it  is  owing  mere- 
ly to  an  accidental  agreement  between  his  duty  and  his  in- 
clination ;  and  that  he  is  not  actuated  by  that  motive  which 
can  alone  render  our  conduct  meritorious.  It  is  justly 
said,  therefore,  that  to  live  in  the  habitual  practice  of  any 
one  vice  is  to  throw  off  our  allegiance  to  conscience  and 
to  our  Maker,  as  decidedly  as  if  we  had  violated  all  the 
rules  which  duty  prescribes  ;  and  it  is  in  this  sense,  I  pre- 
sume, that  we  ought  to  interpret  that  passage  of  the  sa- 
cred writings  in  which  it  is  said,  "  Whosoever  shall  keep 
the  whole  law,  and  yet  offend  in  one  point,  he  is  guilty 
of  all."* 

The  word  virtue,  however,  (as  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
remark  more  particularly  in  the  next  section,)  is  applied, 
not  only  to  express  a  particular  course  of  external  con- 
duct, but  to  express  a  particular  species  or  description  of 
human  character.  When  so  applied,  it  seems  properly 
to  denote  a  huhil  of  mind,  as  distinguished  from  occasional 
acts  of  duty.  It  was  formerly  said  that  the  characters  of 
men  receive  their  denominations  of  covetous,  voluptuous, 
ambitious,  &c.,  from  the  particular  active  principle  which 
prevailingly  influences  the  conduct.  A  man,  accordingly, 
whose  ruling  or  habitual  principle  of  action  is  a  sense  of 
duty,  or  a  regard  to  what  is  right,  may  be  properly  de- 
nominated virtuous.  Agreeably  to  this  view  of  the  sub- 
ject, the  ancient  Pythagoreans  defined  virtue  to  be  "/;£/? 
toi'  <JtorT»c,f  the  habit  of  rf«/y,  —  the  oldest  definition  of 
virtue  of  which  we  have  any  account,  and  one  of  the  most 
unexceptionable  which  is  yet  to  be  found  in  any  system  of 
philosophy. 

This  account  of  virtue  coincides  very  nearly  with  what 
I  conceive  to  be  Dr.  Reid's,  from  some  passages  in  his 
Essays  on  the  Active  Powers  of  the  Human  Mind.  Vir- 
tue he  seems  to  consider  as  consisting  "  in  a  fixed  pur- 
pose or  resolution  to  act  according  to  our  sense  of  duty." 
"  We  consider  the  moral  virtues  as  inherent  in  the  mind 
of  a  good  man,  even  where  there  is  no  opportunity  of  ex- 
ercising them.  And  what  is  it  in  the  mind  which  we  can 
call  the  virtue  of  justice  when  it  is  not  exercised  ?  It  can 

*  James  ii.  10.  t  Gale's  Opuscula  Mythologica,  p.  690. 


DEFINITION    OF    VIHTUE.  397 

be  nothing  but  a  fixed  purpose  or  determination  to  act  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  justice  when  there  is  opportunity." 

With  all  this  I  perfectly  agree.  It  is  the  fixed  purpose 
to  do  what  is  right,  which  evidently  constitutes  what  we 
call  a  virtuous  disposition.  But  it  appears  to  me  that  vir- 
tue, considered  as  an  attribute  of  character,  is  more  prop- 
erly defined  by  the  habit  which  the  fixed  purpose  grad- 
ually forms,  than  by  the  fixed  purpose  itself.  It  is  from 
the  external  habit  alone  that  other  men  can  judge  of  the 
purpose  ;  and  it  is  from  the  uniformity  and  spontaneity  of 
his  habit  that  the  individual  himself  must  judge  how  far  his 
purposes  are  sincere  and  steady. 

These  observations  lead  to  an  explanation  of  what  has 
at  first  sight  the  appearance  of  paradox  in  the  ethical  doc- 
trines of  Aristotle,  that  where  there  is  self-denial  there  is 
no  virtue.  That  the  merit  of  particular  actions  is  increas- 
ed by  the  self-denial  with  which  they  are  accompanied 
cannot  be  disputed  ;  but  it  is  only  when  we  are  learning 
the  practice  of  our  duties  that  this  self-denial  is  exercised 
(for  the  practice  of  morality,  as  wrell  as  of  every  thing 
else,  is  facilitated  by  repeated  acts) ;  and  therefore,  if  the 
word  virtue  be  employed  to  express  that  habit  of  mind 
which  it  is  the  great  object  of  a  good  man  to  confirm,  it 
will  follow,  that,  in  proportion  as  he  approaches  to  it,  his 
efforts  of  self-denial  must  diminish,  and  that  all  occasion 
for  them  would  cease  if  his  end  were  completely  attained. 

The  definition  of  virtue  given  by  Aristotle,  as  consisting 
in  "  right  practical  habits,  voluntary  in  their  origin,"  is 
well  illustrated  by  what  Plutarch  has  told  us  of  the  means 
by  which  he  acquired  the  mastery  over  his  irascible  pas- 
sions. "  I  have  always  approved,"  says  he,  "  of  the  en- 
gagements and  vows  imposed  on  themselves  from  motives 
of  religion,  by  certain  philosophers,  to  abstain  from  wine, 
or  from  some  other  favorite  indulgence,  for  the  space  of  a 
year.  I  have  also  approved  of  the  determination  taken  by 
others  not  to  deviate  from  the  truth,  even  in  the  lightest 
conversation,  during  a  particular  period.  Comparing  my 
own  mind  with  theirs,  and  conscious  that  I  yielded  to  none 
of  them  in  reverence  for  God,  I  tasked  myself,  in  the  first 
instance,  not  to  give  way  to  anger  upon  any  occasion  for 
several  days.  1  afterwards  extended  this  resolution  to  a 
34 


398  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

month  or  longer  ;  and  having  thus  made  a  trial  of  what  I 
could  do,  I  have  learned  at  length  never  to  speak  but  with 
gentleness,  and  so  carefully  to  watch  over  my  temper  as 
never  to  purchase  the  short  and  unprofitable  gratification 
of  venting  my  resentment  at  the  expense  of  a  lasting  and 
humiliating  remorse."  * 

I  must  not  dismiss  this  topic  without  recommending,  not 
merely  to  the  perusal,  but  to  the  diligent  study,  of  all  who 
have  a  taste  for  moral  inquiries,  Aristorie's  Nicomachcan 
Ethics,  in  which  he  has  examined,  with  far  greater  accu- 
racy than  any  other  author  of  antiquity,  the  nature  of  habits 
considered  in  their  relation  to  our  moral  constitution.  The 
whole  treatise  is  indeed  of  great  value,  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  passages,  almost  justifies  the  warm  and 
unqualified  eulogium  pronounced  upon  it  by  a  learned  di- 
vine (Dr.  Rennel)  before  the  University  of  Cambridge  ; 
in  which  he  goes  so  far  as  to  assert,  that  "  it  affords  not 
only  the  most  perfect  specimen  of  scientific  morality,  but 
exhibits  also  the  powers  of  the  most  compact  and  best  con- 
structed system  which  the  human  intellect  ever  produced 
upon  any  subject ;  enlivening  occasionally  great  severity 
of  method,  and  strict  precision  of  terms,  by  the  sublimest, 
though  soberest,  splendor  of  diction,  "f 


CHAPTER     II. 

ON   AN  AMBIGUITY  IN   THE   WORDS    RIGHT  AND 
WRONG,  VIRTUE  AND   VICE. 

THE  epithets  right  and  wrong',  virtuous  and  vicious, 
are  applied  sometimes  to  external  actions,  and  sometimes 
to  the  intentions  of  the  agent.  A  similar  ambiguity  may 
be  remarked  in  the  corresponding  words  in  other  lan- 
guages. 

This  ambiguity  is  owing  to  various  causes,  which  it  is 

•  De  Ira. 

t  We  have  two  English  translations  of  this  work  ;  one  by  Dr.  Gillies, 
the  other  bj  Thomas  Taylor.  —  ED. 


ABSOLUTE    AND    RELATIVE    RIGHT.  399 

not  necessary  at  present  to  trace.  Among  other  circum- 
stances, it  is  owing  to  the  association  of  ideas,  which,  as 
it  leads  us  to  connect  notions  of  elegance  or  of  meanness 
with  many  arbitrary  expressions  in  language,  so  it  often 
leads  us  to  connect  notions  of  rieht  and  wrone  with  ex- 

o  o 

ternal  actions,  considered  abstractly  from  the  motives 
which  produced  them.  It  is  owing  (at  least  in  part)  to 
this,  that  a  man  who  has  been  involuntarily  the  author  of 
any  calamity  to  another  can  hardly  by  any  reasoning 
banish  his  feelings  of  remorse  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
however  wicked  our  purposes  may  have  been,  if  by  any 
accident  we  have  been  prevented  from  carrying  them  into 
execution,  we  are  apt  to  consider  ourselves  as  far  less  cul- 
pable than  if  we  had  perpetrated  the  crimes  that  we  had 
intended.  It  is  much  in  the  same  manner  that  we  think  it 
less  criminal  to  mislead  others  by  hints,  or  looks,  or  ac- 
tions, than  by  a  verbal  lie  ;  and,  in  general,  that  we  think 
our  guilt  diminished  if  we  can  only  contrive  to  accomplish 
our  ends  without  employing  those  external  signs,  or  those 
external  means,  with  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
associate  the  notions  of  guilt  and  infamy.  Shakspeare 
has  painted  with  philosophical  accuracy  this  natural  sub- 
terfuge of  a  vicious  mind,  in  which  the  sense  of  duty  still 
retains  some  authority,  in  one  of  the  exquisite  scenes  be- 
tween King  John  and  Hubert  :  — 

"  Hadst  thou  but  shook  thy  head,  or  made  a  pause, 
When  I  spake  darkly  what  I  purposed ; 
Or  turned  an  eye  of  doubt  upon  my  face, 
As  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words  ; 
Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb,  made  me  break  off, 
And  those  thy  fears  might  have  wrought  fears  in  me. 
But  thou  didst  understand  me  by  my  signs, 
And  didst  in  signs  again  parley  with  sin." 

As  this  twofold  application  of  the  words  right  and  wrong 
to  the  intentions  of  the  mind,  and  to  external  actions,  has 
a  tendency,  in  the  common  business  of  life,  to  affect  our 
opinions  concerning  the  merits  of  individuals,  so  it  has 
misled  the  theoretical  speculations  of  some  very  eminent 
philosophers  in  their  inquiries  concerning  the  principles  of 
morals.  It  was  to  obviate  the  confusion  of  ideas  arising 
from  this  ambiguity  of  language  that  the  distinction  be- 
tween absolute  and  relative  rectitude  was  introduced  into 


400  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

ethics  ;  and  as  the  distinction  is  equally  just  and  impor- 
tant, it  will  be  proper  to  explain  it  particularly,  and  to 
point  out  its  application  to  one  or  two  of  the  questions 
which  have  been  perplexed  by  that  vagueness  of  expres- 
sion which  it  is  our  object  at  present  to  correct. 

An  action  may  be  said  to  be  absolutely  right,  when  it  is 
in  every  respect  suitable  to  the  circumstances  in  which  the 
agent  is  placed  ;  or,  in  other  words,  when  it  is  such  as, 
with  perfectly  good  intentions,  under  the  guidance  of  an 
enlightened  and  well-informed  understanding,  'he  would 
have  performed. 

An  action  may  be  said  to  be  relatively  right,  when  the 
intentions  of  the  agent  are  sincerely  good,  whether  his  con- 
duct be  suitable  to  his  circumstances  or  not. 

According  to  these  definitions,  an  action  may  be  right 
in  one  sense  and  wrong  in  another  ;  —  an  ambiguity  in  lan- 
guage, which,  how  obvious  soever,  has  not  always  been 
attended  to  by  the  writers  on  morals. 

It  is  the  relative  rectitude  of  an  action  which  determines 
the  moral  desert  of  the  agent ;  but  it  is  its  absolute  recti- 
tude which  determines  its  utility  to  his  worldly  interests, 
and  to  the  welfare  of  society.  And  it  is  only  so  far  as  ab- 
solute and  relative  rectitude  coincide,  that  utility  can  be 
affirmed  to  be  a  quality  of  virtue. 

A  strong  sense  of  duty  will  indeed  induce  us  to  avail* 
ourselves  of  all  the  talents  we  possess,  and  of  all  the  in- 
formation within  our  reach,  to  act  agreeably  to  the  rules  of 
absolute  rectitude.  And  if  we  fail  in  doing  so,  our  negli- 
gence is  criminal.  "Crimes  committed  through  igno- 
rance," as  Aristotle  has  very  judiciously  observed,  "  are 
only  excusable  when  the  ignorance  is  involuntary  ;  for 
when  the  cause  of  it  lies  in  ourselves,  it  is  then  justly 
punishable.  The  ignorance  of  those  laws  which  all  may 
know  if  they  will  does  not  excuse  the  breach  of  them  ; 
and  neglect  is  not  pardonable  where  attention  ought  to  be 
bestowed.  But  perhaps  we  are  incapable  of  attention. 
This,  however,  is  our  own  fault,  since  the  incapacity  has 
been  contracted  by  our  continual  carelessness,  as  the 
evils  of  injustice  and  intemperance  are  contracted  by  the 
daily  commission  of  iniquity,  and  the  daily  indulgence  in 


ABSOLUTE    AND    RELATIVE    RIGHT.  401 

voluptuousness.  For  such  as  our  actions  are,  such  must 
our  habits  become."  * 

Notwithstanding,  however,  the  truth  and  the  importance 
of  this  doctrine,  the  general  principle  already  stated  re- 
mains incontrovertible,  that  in  every  particular  instance 
our  duty  consists  in  doing  what  appears  to  us  to  be  right  at 
the  time  ;  and  if,  while  we  follow  this  rule,  we  should  in- 
cur any  blame,  our  demerit  does  not  arise  from  acting  ac- 
cording to  an  erroneous  judgment,  but  from  our  previous 
misemplayment  of  the  means  we  possessed  for  correcting 
the  errors  to  which  our  judgment  is  liable. f 

From  these  principles  it  follows,  that  actions,  although 
materially  right,  are  not  meritorious  with  respect  to  the 
agent,  unless  performed  from  a  sense  of  duty.  Aristotle 
inculcates  this  doctrine  in  many  parts  of  his  Ethics.^.  To 
the  same  purpose,  also,  Lord  Shaftesbury  :  —  "In  this 
case  alone  it  is  we  call  any  creature  worthy  or  virtuous, 
when  it  can  attain  to  the  speculation  or  sense  of  what  is 
morally  good  or  ill,  admirable  or  blamable,  right  or 
wrong.  For  though  we  may  vulgarly  call  an  ill  horse 
vicious,  yet  we  never  say  of  a  good  one,  nor  of  any  mere 
changeling  or  idiot,  though  never  so  good-natured,  that  he 
is  worthy  or  virtuous.  So  that  if  a  creature  be  generous, 
kind,  constant,  and  compassionate,  yet  if  he  cannot  re- 
flect on  what  he  himself  does  or  sees  others  do,  so  as  to 
take  notice  of  what  is  worthy  and  honest,  and  make  that 
notice  or  conception  of  worth  and  honesty  to  be  an  object 
of  his  affection,  he  has  not  the  character  of  being  virtuous, 
for  thus,  and  no  otherwise,  he  is  capable  of  having  a  sense 
of  right  or  wrong. "§ 

*  Aristotle's  Ethics,  by  Gillies,  p.  305. 

i  A  distinction  similar  to  that  now  made  between  absolute  and  rela- 
tive -rectitude  was  expressed  among  the  schoolmen  by  the  phrases  mate- 
rial and  formal  virtue. 

*  See  Ethic.  JW'c.,  Lib.  IV.  Cap.  i.;  Lib.  VI   Cap.  v. 

§  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,  Book  I.  Part  ii.  Sect  iii.  Dr.  Price,  in 
his  Review,  Chap.  VIII.,  has  made  a  number  of  judicious  observations 
on  this  subject ;  and  Dr.  Reid,  in  his  Essays  on  the  Active  Poieers,  has 
a  particular  chapter  allotted  to  the  consideration  of  this  very  question, 
"  Whether  an  action  deserving  moral  approbation  must  be  done  with 
the  belief  of  its  being  morally  good  ?  "  in  which  the  doctrine  he  en- 
deavours to  establish  is  precisely  the  same  with  that  which  has  been  now 
stated.  Compare  Hume's  Treatise  of  Human  Jfatitre,  Book  HI.  Part  ii. 
Sect,  i.,  where  this  conclusion  is  disputed. 

34* 


402  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 


CHAPTER    III. 

OF  THE   OFFICE   AND  USE  OF   REASON  IN    THE   PRAC- 
TICE  OF   MORALITY. 

T  FORMERLY  observed  that  a  strong  sense  of  duty, 
while  it  leads  us  to  cultivate  with  care  our  good  disposi- 
tions, will  induce  us  to  avail  ourselves  of  all  the  means 
in  our  power  for  the  wise  regulation  of  our  external  con- 
duct. The  occasions  on  which  it  is  necessary  for  us  to 
employ  our  reason  in  this  way  are  chiefly  the  three  fol- 
lowing :  — 

1.  When  we  have  ground  for  suspecting  that  our  moral 
judgments  and  feelings  may  have  been  warped  and  per- 
verted by  the  prejudices  of  education. 

I  formerly  showed  that  the  moral  faculty  is  an  original 
principle  of  the  human  constitution,  and  not  the  result  (as 
Mandeville  and  others  suppose)  of  habits  superinduced 
by  systems  of  education  planned  by  politicians  and  di- 
vines. The  moral  faculty,  indeed,  like  the  faculty  of  rea- 
son, (which  forms  the  most  essential  of  its  elements,)  re- 
quires care  and  cultivation  for  its  development ;  and,  like 
reason,  it  has  a  gradual  progress,  both  in  the  case  of  in- 
dividuals and  of  societies.  But  it  does  not  follow  from 
this  that  the  former  is  a  fictitious  principle,  any  more  than 
the  latter,  with  respect  to  the  origin  of  which  I  do  not 
know  that  any  doubts  have  been  suggested  by  the  greatest 
skeptics. 

Although,  however,  the  moral  faculty  is  an  original  part 
of  the  human  frame,  and  although  the  great  laws  of  morali- 
ty are  engraven  on  every  heart,  it  is  not  in  this  way  that 
the  greater  part  of  mankind  arrive  at  their  first  knowledge 
of  them.  The  infant  mind  is  formed  by  the  care  of  our 
early  instructors,  and  for  a  long  time  thinks  and  acts  in 
consequence  of  the  confidence  it  reposes  in  their  superior 
judgment.  All  this  is  undoubtedly  agreeable  to  the  de- 
sign of  Nature  ;  and,  indeed,  if  the  case  were  otherwise, 
the  business  of  the  world  could  not  possibly  go  on  ;  for 
nothing  can  be  plainer  than  this,  that  the  multitude,  (at 


OFFICE    OF    REASON.  403 

least  as  society  is  actually  constituted,)  condemned  as 
they  are  to  laborious  employments  inconsistent  with  the 
cultivation  of  their  mental  faculties,  are  wholly  incapable 
of  forming  their  own  opinions  on  the  most  important  ques- 
tions which  can  occupy  the  human  mind.  It  is  evident, 
at  the  same  time,  that,  as  no  system  of  education  can  be 
perfect,  many  prejudices  must  mingle  with  the  most  im- 
portant and  best  ascertained  truths  ;  and  as  the  truths  and 
the  prejudices  are  both  acquired  from  the  same  source,  the 
incontrovertible  evidence  of  the  one  serves,  in  the  prog- 
ress of  human  reason,  to  support  and  confirm,  the  other. 
Hence  the  suspicious  and  jealous  eye  with  which  we 
ought  to  regard  all  those  principles  which  we  have  at  first 
adopted  without  due  examination,  —  a  duty  doubly  incum- 
bent on  those  whose  opinions  are  likely,  from  their  rank 
and  situation  in  society,  to  influence  those  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  whose  errors  may  eventually  be  instrumental  in 
impairing  the  morals  and  the  happiness  of  generations  yet 
unborn. 

2.  A  second  instance  in  which  the  exercise  of  reason 
may  be  requisite  for  an  enlightened  discharge  of  our  duty 
occurs  in  those  cases  where  there  appears  to  be  an  inter- 
ference between  different  duties,  and  where  of  course  it 
seems  to  be  necessary  to  sacrifice  one  duty  to  another. 

In  the  course  of  the  foregoing  speculations,  I.  have  fre- 
quently taken  notice  of  the  coincidence  of  all  our  virtuous 
principles  of  action  in  pointing  out  to  us  the  same  line  of 
conduct  ;  and  of  the  systematical  consistency  and  harmony 
which  they  have  a  tendency  to  produce  in  the  moral  char- 
acter. Notwithstanding,  however,  this  general  and  indis- 
putable fact,  it  must  be  owned  that  cases  sometimes  occur 
in  which  they  seem  at  first  view  to  interfere  with  each 
other,  and  in  which,  of  consequence,  the  exact  path  of  duty 
is  not  altogether  so  obvious  as  it  commonly  is.  Thus, 
every  man  feels  it  incumbent  on  him  to  have  a  constant 
regard  to  the  welfare  of  society,  and  also  to  his  own  hap- 
piness. On  the  whole,  these  two  interests  will  be  found, 
by  the  most  superficial  inquirer,  to  be  inseparably  con- 
nected ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
cases  may  be  fancied  in  which  it  seems  necessary  to  make 
a  sacrifice  of  the  one  to  the  other. 


404  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

In  such  cases,  when  the  public  happiness  is  very  great, 
and  the  private  comparatively  inconsiderable,  there  is  no 
room  for  hesitation  ;  but  the  former  may  be  easily  con- 
ceived to  be  diminished,  and  the  latter  to  be  increased,  to 
such  an  amount  as  to  render  the  exact  propriety  of  con- 
duct very  doubtful  ;  more  especially  when  it  is  considered, 
that,  cceteris  paribus,  a  certain  degree  of  preference  to 
ourselves  is  not  only  justifiable,  but  morally  right.  In  like 
manner  the  attachments  of  nature  or  of  friendship,  or  the 
obligations  of  gratitude,  of  veracity,  or  of  justice,  may  in- 
terfere with  private  or  public  good  ;  and  it  may  not  be 
easy  to  say,  whether  all  of  these  obligations  may  not  some- 
times be  superseded  by  paramount  considerations  of  utility. 
At  least,  these  are  points  on  which  moralists  have  been 
arguing  for  some  thousands  of  years,  without  having  yet 
come  to  a  determination  in  which  all  parties  are  agreed. 
It  is  much  in  the  same  manner  that  the  different  founda- 
tions of  property  may  give  rise  to  different  claims  ;  and  it 
may  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  determine,  among  a  variety 
of  titles,  which  of  them  is  entitled  to  a  preference  over  the 
others. 

The  consideration  of  these  nice  and  puzzling  questions 
in  the  science  of  ethics  has  given  rise  in  modern  times  to 
a  particular  department  of  it,  distinguished  by  the  title  of 
casuistry. 

3.  When  the  ends  at  which  our  duty  prompts  us  to  aim 
are  to  be  accomplished  by  means  which  require  choice  and 
deliberation. 

Even  if  the  whole  of  virtue  consisted  in  following  steadi- 
ly one  principle  of  action,  still  reason  would  be  necessary 
to  direct  us  to  the  means.  The  truth  is,  nature  only 
recommends  certain  ends,  leaving  to  ourselves  the  selec- 
tion of  the  most  efficient  means  by  which  these  ends  may 
be  obtained.  Thus  all  moralists,  whatever  may  be  their 
particular  system,  agree  in  this,  that  it  is  one  of  the  chief 
branches  of  our  duty  to  promote  to  the  utmost  of  our 
power  the  happiness  of  that  society  of  which  we  are  mem- 
bers ;  but  the  most  ardent  zeal  for  the  attainment  of  this 
object  can  be  of  no  avail,  unless  reason  be  employed  both 
in  ascertaining  what  are  the  real  constituents  of  social  and 
political  happiness,  and  by  what  means  this  happiness  may 
be  most  effectually  advanced  and  secured. 


OFFICE    OF    REASON.  405 

It  is  owing  to  the  last  of  these  considerations  that  the 
study  of  happiness,  both  private  and  public,  becomes  an 
important  part  of  the  science  of  ethics.  Indeed,  without 
this  study,  the  best  dispositions  of  the  heart,  whether  re- 
lating to  ourselves  or  to  others,  may  be  in  a  great  measure 
useless. 

The  subject  of  happiness,  so  far  as  relates  to  the  indi- 
vidual, has  been  already  considered.  The  great  extent 
and  difficulty  of  those  inquiries  which  have  for  their  object 
to  ascertain  what  constitutes  the  happiness  of  a  commu- 
nity, and  by  what  means  it  may  be  most  effectually  pro- 
moted, make  it  necessary  to  separate  them  from  the  other 
questions  of  ethics,  and  to  form  them  into  a  distinct  branch 
of  the  science. 

It  is  not,  however,  in  this  respect  alone  that  politics  is 
connected  with  the  other  branches  of  moral  philosophy. 
The  provisions  which  Nature  has  made  for  the  intellectual 
and  moral  progress  of  the  species  all  suppose  the  existence 
of  the  political  union  ;  and  the  particular  form  which  this 
union  happens  in  the  case  of  any  community  to  assume, 
determines  many  of  the  most  important  circumstances  in 
the  character  of  the  people,  and  many  of  those  opinions 
and  habits  which  affect  the  happiness  of  private  life. 

These  observations,  which  represent  politics  as  a  branch 
of  moral  philosophy,  have  been  sanctioned  by  the  opin- 
ions of  all  those  authors,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times, 
by  whom  either  the  one  or  the  other  has  been  cultivated 
with  much  success.  Among  the  former  it  is  sufficient  to 
mention  the  names  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  both  of  whom, 
but  more  especially  the  latter,  have  left  us  works  on  the 
general  principles  of  policy  and  government,  which  may 
be  read  with  the  highest  advantage  at  the  present  day.  As 
to  Socrates,  his  studies  seem  to  have  been  chiefly  direct- 
ed to  inculcate  the  duties  of  private  life  ;  and  yet,  in  the 
beautiful  enumeration  which  Xenophon  has  given  of  his 
favorite  pursuits,  the  science  of  politics  is  expressly  men- 
tioned as  an  important  branch  of  the  philosophy  of  human 
nature.  "  As  for  himself,  man,  and  what  related  to  man, 
were  the  only  subjects  on  which  he  chose  to  employ  him- 
self. To  this  purpose,  all  his  inquiries  and  conversations 
turned  on  what  was  pious,  what  impious  ;  what  honorable, 


406  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

what  base  ;  what  just,  what  unjust  ;  what  wisdom,  what 
folly  ;  what  courage,  what  cowardice  ;  what  a  state  or  po- 
litical community  ;  what  the  character  of  a  statesman  or  a 
politician  ;  what  a  government  of  men,  what  the  character 
of  one  equal  to  such  a  government.  It  was  on  these  and 
other  matters  of  the  same  kind  that  he  used  to  discourse, 
in  which  subjects  those  who  were  knowing  he  used  to  es- 
teem men  of  honor  and  goodness,  and  those  who  were 
ignorant  to  be  no  better  than  the  basest  of  slaves."  * 


APPENDIX   TO   BOOK   IV. 

SINCE  the  publication  of  Mr.  Stewart's  work,  two  theo- 

ries  uu  llie  not.urc_  of  virtue  have  appeared  and  attracted 
considerable  notice  in  England  and  this  country  ;  one  by 
.Mackintosh,  and  the  other  by  Jouffroy.  A 
succinct  account  ot  each  will  be  given  in  this  Appendix,  f 

SECTION  I. 
SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I.  His  Distinction  between  the  Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
ments and  the  Criterion  of  Morality.}  Mackintosh  has, 

*  Memor.,  Lib.  I.  Cap.  i. 

[By  reason,  in  this  chapter,  we  are  to  understand  the  discursive  rea- 
son, or  reasoning.  We  have  seen  that  Mr.  Stewart,  after  Price,  is  dis- 
posed to  refer  the  origin  of  moral  distinctions  to  the  intuitive  reason.] 

t  The  first  is  taken  from  Dr.  Whewell's  Preface  to  his  edition  of 
Mackintosh's  Dissertation  on  the.  Progress  of  Ethical  Philosophy;  the 
second  from  Jouflfroy  himself,  mostly  from  the  twenty-ninth  and  thir- 
tieth Lectures  of  his  Cours  de  Droit  Jtaturel,  being  part  of  the  third  vol- 
ume, published  since  his  death,  and  not  yet  translated  into  English. 
His  criticism  of  other  theories  is  taken  from  the  twenty-second  Lecture. 

The  object  of  this  work  does  not  lead  me  to  notice  German  speculations 
on  ethics  not  yet  naturalized  amongst  us.  Those  who  wish  to  pursue  the 
study  in  that  direction  must  read  Kant,  Grundlegvng  zur  Metaphysik 
derSUten;  and  Critik  der  praktischen  Vernunft.  (Most  of  Kant's  ethical 
writings  have  been  translated  into  English  by  J.  W.  Semple,  under  the 
title  of  The  Metaphysic  of  Ethics.)  Schleiermacher,  Enttcurf  tines  Sys- 
tems der  SUtenlehre.  Hegel,  Grundlinien  der  Philosophic  des  Rechtt. 
—  ED. 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  407 

with  great  propriety,  insisted  upon  the  importance  of  a 
distinction  of  two  parts  of  moral  philosophy  which  are 
often  confounded  ;  —  the  theory  q£  mgral  sentiments^  and 
the  criterion  »f  moniUiij.  'The  question  of  the  inde- 
pendent existence  and  character  of  the  moral  faculty  be- 
longs to  the  former  division  of  the  subject  ;  the  construc- 
tion of  our  system  of  ethics  flows  from  the  latter.  There 
is  no  necessary  collision  between  doctrines  on  these  two 
points.  We  may  hold  that  morality  is  an  original  quality 
of  actions,  and  may  still  form  our  rules  of  morality  by 
tracing  the  consequences  of  actions. 

This  distinction  has  often  been  neglected.  Those  who 
hold  that  utility  constitutes  morality  often  call  upon  the 
advocates  of  a  moral  sense  to  show  how  the  assertion  of 
such  a  faculty  leads  us  to  distinguish  right  from  wrong,  or 
how  it  can  supersede  the  criterion  of  general  utility.  To 
this  it  may  be  replied,  that  the  existence  of  a  moral 
conscience  in  man  is  an  important  truth,  but  that  this  truth 
alone  cannot  be  expected  to  replace  all  the  principles  and 
deductions  by  which  a  sound  system  of  philosophical  ethics 
is  to  be  produced  ;  that  the  construction  of  such  a  sys- 
tem is  undoubtedly  a  difficult  problem,  but  that  we  shall 
inevitably  obtain  an  erroneous  solution  of  the  problem,  if 
we  do  not  take  into  our  account  the  operation  of  the 
moral  faculty.  The  criterion  of  utility  cannot  safely  be 
applied  without  acknowledging  the  independent  value  of 
morality,  any  more  than  the  moral  faculty  can  always  de- 
cide well  without  the  consideration  of  consequences.  For 
among  the  most  important  results  of  actions,  we  must  in- 
clude their  effect  upon  the  moral  habits  and  feelings  of 
men  ;  and  must  consider  these  effects  as  claiming  attention 
for  their  own  sake.  The  promotion  of  human  virtue  must 
be  our  aim,  as  well  as  the  augmentation  of  human  happi- 
ness. We  cannot  by  any  analysis  exclude  the  former  of 
these  ends  ;  happiness  depends  on  the  exercise  of  the  vir- 
tuous affections,  far  more  clearly  than  virtue  depends  on 
the  pursuit  of  happiness.  The  most  wise  and  moderate  of 
the  utilitarian  moralists  do,  accordingly,  apply  their  method 
in  this  manner.  Thus  Paley,  in  estimating  the  guilt  of 
corrupting  a  person  to  the  commission  of  one  offence, 
states  it  as  one  ground  of  condemnation,  that  such  seduction 


408  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

is  the  destruction  of  the  person's  moral  principle.*  And 
it  appears,  at  present,  to  be  generally  allowed,  that  the 
utilitarian  doctrine  cannot  be  applied  without  considering 
the  effect  on  the  moral  feelings  of  men  as  among  the  im- 
portant consequences  of  action.  "  It  often  happens,"  it 
is  said,  u  that  an  essential  part  of  the  morality  or  immo- 
rality of  an  action,  or  a  rule  of  action,  consists  in  its  in- 
fluence on  the  agent's  own  mind."  "  Many  actions, 
moreover,  produce  effects  on  the  characters  of  other  per- 
sons besides  the  agents."  The  effects  here  spoken  of 
are,  in  fact,  effects  on  the  moral  habits  of  thought  ;  and 
thus  the  existence  of  the  moral  attributes  of  the  mind,  as 
original  and  independent  objects  of  the  attention  of  the 
ethical  philosopher,  is  presupposed  in  this  mode  of  apply- 
ing the  utilitarian  scheme. 

If,  indeed,  we  take  suck  good  and  bad  consequences 
into  the  account,  —  if,  among  the  useful  effects  of  actions, 
we  conceive  the  most  useful  to  be  the  improvement  of 
man's  moral  character,  —  if  we  frame  our  rules  so  that 
they  shall  conduce  as  much  as  possible  to  virtuous  feel- 
ing as  well  as  to  bene6cial  action,  to  purity  of  heart  as 
well  as  to  rectitude  of  conduct,  —  if  we  aim  at  man's 
general  well-being,  and  not  merely  at  his  gratification,  — 
I  know  not  what  moralist  would  object  to  a  criterion  of 
morality  so  drawn  from  consequences,  or  would  deny  that 
the  promotion  of  human  happiness,  and  of  human  virtue, 
require  the  same  practical  rules.  Mackintosh  would  un- 
doubtedly have  assented  to  this  ;  for  he  not  only  allows 
the  universal  coincidence  of  virtue  with  utility  in  the  largest 
sense,  but  founds  his  recommendation  of  the  highest  forms 
of  virtue  on  the  advantage  of  virtuous  habits  and  feelings, 
both  to  the  possessor  and  to  the  community  ;  as  when  he 
speaks  of  the  trite  example  of  Regulus,  of  the  character 
of  Andrew  Fletcher,  and  of  the  virtue  of  courage. f  If 
we  could  lake  into  due  account  the  whole  value  of  right 
principles,  and  the  whole  happiness  produced  by  virtuous 
feelings,  we  could  commit  no  practical  error  in  making  the 
advantageous  consequences  of  actions  the  measure  of  their 
morality. 

*  Moral  Philosophy,  Book  III.  Part  iii   ("Imp.  iii. 
t  See   the  extract  from   him    on  the  followers  of  Bentham  in  this 
volume. 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  409 

But  this  can  happen  only  by  considering  moral  good  as 
a  primary  object,  valuable  for  its  own  sake  ;  not  by  sup- 
posing that  virtue  is  aimed  at,  as  subservient  to  some  other 
purpose  of  more  genuine  utility  :  and  no  sagacity  or  fair- 
ness in  estimating  useful  consequences  can  stand  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  the  love  of  right  itself.  It  is  true  that  honesty 
is  the  best  policy  ;  but  he  who  is  honest  only  out  of  poli- 
cy does  not  come  up  even  to  the  vulgar  notion  of  a  vir- 
tuous man.  If  a  man  were  tempted  by  the  opportunity  of 
gaining  a  large  estate  through  a  safe  but  fraudulent  pro- 
ceeding, the  utilitarian  doctrine  would  seem  to  recommend 
him  to  weigh  both  sides  well,  though  it  would  direct  him 
in  conclusion  to  decide  in  favor  of  probity  ;  but  the  com- 
mon judgment  of  mankind  would  hardly  deern  him  honest 
if  he  hesitated  at  all.  And  in  like  manner  in  regard  to 
other  temptations,  the  safety  of  virtue  appears  to  consist 
so  little  in  tracing  all  possible  consequences,  that  it  has 
been  held  that  to  deliberate  is  to  be  lost,  and  that  the 
only  secure  protection  is  that  purity  of  mind  which  will 
not  look  at  the  prospect  of  sensual  pleasure  when  it  forms 
one  side  of  the  account.  We  cannot  help  saying,  with 
Cicero,  "  Haec  nonne  est  turpe  dubitare  philosophos,  quae 
ne  rustic!  quidem  dubitent  ?  "  * 

Indeed,  it  appears  to  be  acknowledged  by  the  advocates 
of  the  rule  of  utility,  that  it  is  not  safe  to  apply  the  prin- 
ciple separately  in  each  particular  case.  Mr.  Bentham 
has  urged,  with  great  beauty  of  expression,!  the  propriety 
of  framing  general  rules,  and  conforming  our  practice  in- 
variably to  these,  so  as  to  avoid  the  temptations  of  our 
frailty  and  passion  in  particular  instances.  If  a  reverence 
for  general  maxims  of  morality,  and  a  constant  reference 
to  the  common  precepts  of  virtue,  take  the  place,  in  the 
utilitarian's  mind,  of  the  direct  application  of  his  princi- 
ple, there  will  remain  little  difference  between  him  and  (he 
believer  in  original  moral  distinctions  ;  for  the  practical 
rules  of  the  two  will  rarely  differ,  and  in  both  systems  the 
rules  will  be  the  moral  guides  of  thought  and  conduct. 

But  though  the  two  schools  agree  so  far,  there  still  will 

*  De  Off.,  Lib.  III.  19.     "  Is  it  not  base  for  philosophers  to  doubt  that 
which  even  peasants  admit  ?" 
t   Deontology,  Part  II.  Chap.  i. 

35 


410  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

be  found  a  deficiency  on  the  part  of  the  consistent  utilita- 
rian. A  persuasion  that  moral  good  is  something  different 
from,  and  superior  to,  mere  pleasure,  is  requisite  to  give 
to  our  preference  of  it  that  tone  of  enthusiasm  and  affec- 
tion which  belongs  to  virtuous  feeling.  To  approve  a  rule 
as  right,  is  different  from  liking  it  as  profitable  ;  to  admire 
an  act  of  virtuous  self-devotion  as  we  are  capable  of  ad- 
miring, is  a  feeling  so  different  from  the  apprehension  of 
any  usefulness  tta  act  may  have,  that  the  comparison  of 
the  two  things  is  altogether  incongruous.  The  moral  fac- 
ulty converts  our  perception  of  the  quality  of  actions  into 
an  affection  of  the  strongest  kind  ;  nor  can  we  be  satisfied 
with  any  account  of  our  moral  sentiments  which  excludes 
this  feature  in  the  process.  Thus,  as  we  hold  the  affec- 
tions to  be  motives  of  an  order  superior  to  the  desires 
which  have  reference  to  ourselves  only,  we  maintain  the 
moral  faculty,  the  conscience,  the  affection  towards  duty, 
to  be  a  principle  of  action  of  an  order  superior  both  to 
the  desires  and  to  the  other  affections.  Without  the  ac- 
knowledgment of  this  subordination,  the  language  and  feel- 
ings of  men  when  they  compare  the  claims  of  personal 
pleasure,  of  social  affection,  and  of  duty,  are  altogether 
unintelligible  and  absurd. 

II.  He  refers  the  Formation  of  our  Active  Principles  to 
the  Association  of  Ideas.]  I  proceed  to  notice  another 
principle  which  enters  into  Mackintosh's  philosophy,  and 
which,  in  the  way  in  which  he  holds  it,  constitutes  one  of 
his  leading  peculiarities.  He  assents,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  the  explanation  suggested  by  Hume  and  Smith,  but 
more  fully  developed  by  Hartley,  of  the  formation  of  our 
passions  and  affections,  and  even  of  our  sentiments  of  rir- 
tue  and  duty,  by  means  of  the  association  of  ideas. 

1.  But  into  this  view,  as  usually  understood,  he  intro- 
duces several  modifications ;  and,  in  particular,  he  asserts 
that  the  effect  of  such  "  association  "  may  be  something 
very  different  from  the  mere  juxtaposition  of  the  component 
elements.  Thus  he  says  that  the  result  may  be  so  entire- 
ly a  single  sentiment,  that  "  the  originally  separate  feelings 
can  no  longer  be  disjoined";  and,  moreover,  that  "  the 
compound  may  have  properties  not  to  be  found  in  any  of 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  411 

its  component  parts  ";  as  constantly  happens,  he  observes, 
in  material  compounds. 

It  is  clear  that  this  view  of  the  effect  of  the  u  associa- 
tion of  ideas  "  may  give  results  very  different  from  those 
often  founded  upon  that  doctrine.  If  we  say  that  grati- 
tude, or  compassion,  or  patriotism,  are  only  certain  trains 
of  pleasurable  associations,  we  are  generally  understood 
to  assert  that  we  can  again  resolve  those  feelings  into  the 
constituent  and  associated  elements  ;  and  that  by  so  doing 
we  may  hope  to  reason  upon  them  most  philosophically 
and  exactly.  But  Mackintosh's  mode  of  considering  these 
and  other  emotions  would  allow  of  neither  of  these  infer- 
ences. He  supposes  "association"  to  be  employed  in 
the  education  rather  than  in  the  creation  of  our  moral  sen- 
timents ;  in  awakening  affections  rather  than  in  connecting 
notions. 

2.  The  ideas  or  the  feelings  which  are  concerned  in  this 
process  are    said  to  be  associated  ;    but  this  is,  he  de- 
clares, a  very  inadequate  word  to  express  the  "complete 
combination  and  fusion  "  which  occur.     This  association 
presupposes  laws  and  powers  of  the  mind  itself,  according 
to  which  the  conjunction  produces  its  results.     The  cele- 
brated comparison  of  the  mind  to  a  sheet  of  white  paper  is 
not  just,  except  we  consider  that  there  may  be  in  the 
paper  itself  many  circumstances  which  affect  the  nature  of 
the  writing.     A  recent  writer,  however,  appears  to  me 
to  have  supplied  us  with   a  much  more  apt  and  beautiful 
comparison.     Man's  soul  at  first,  says  Professor  Sedg- 
wick,  is  one  unvaried  blank,  till  it  has  received  the  im- 
pressions of  external  experience.     "  Yet  has  this  blank," 
he  adds,  "  been  already  touched  by  a  celestial  hand  ;  and, 
when  plunged  in  the  colors  which  surround  it,  it  takes  not 
its  tinge  from  accident,  but  design,  and  comes  out  covered 
with  a  glorious  pattern."  *       This  modern  image  of  the 
mind  as  a  prepared  blank    is  well  adapted  to  occupy  a 
permanent  place  in  opposition  to  the  ancient  sheet  of  white 
paper. 

3.  Not  only  the  word  association,  but  also  the   word 
ideas,  in  the  Lockian  expression,  appears  to  Mackintosh 

*  Discourse  on  the  Studies  of  the  University,  p.  54. 


412  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

to  be  unsuited  to  its  purpose,  since  an  association  takes 
place  "  of  thoughts  with  emotions,  as  well  as  with  each 
other."  Our  author  has  indeed  shown  great  solicitude  to 
bring  into  clear  view  that  part  of  our  nature  which  be  here 
distinguishes  from  thought ;  —  "  that  other  part  of  it, 
hitherto  without  any  adequate  name,  which  feels,  and  de- 
sires, and  loves,  and  hopes,  and  wills."  After  balancing 
the  various  terms  which  may  be  used  to  express  the  aggre- 
gate of  such  feelings,  he  inclines  6nally  to  call  it  the  emo- 
tive part  of  man. 

Thus  the  "  association  of  ideas,"  according  to  Mackin- 
tosh, would  more  properly  be  termed  the  composition  of 
ideas  and  emotions.  In  his  view  of  the"  composite,  as 
losing  all  trace  of  apparent  composition,  the  author  was, 
in  some  measure,  following  Hartley,  though  he  justly 
claims  the  credit  of  seeing  more  distinctly  than  his  prede- 
cessors the  important  truth,  that  the  compound  may  have 
properties  not  found  in  any  of  its  component  parts. 

4.  Mackintosh  maintains  that  this  is  by  no  means  a  modi- 
fication of  the  selfish  system  ;  for  the  "  affections  and  the 
moral  sentiments,  though  educed  by  association,  only  be- 
come what  they  are  when  they  lose  all  trace  of  self-regard." 
u  If  the  affections  be  acquired,  they  are  justly  called  natu- 
ral; and  if  their  origin  be  personal,  their  nature  may  and 
does  become  disinterested." 

III.  His  Theory  of  Conscience.]  But  we  must  now 
consider  another  peculiarity  of  Mackintosh's  system  :  I 
speak  of  what  he  names  his  theory  of  conscience. 

1.  The  agreeable  or  painful  sentiment,  naturally  attend- 
ing certain  emotions,  is  transferred,  by  association  of  ideas, 
to  the  volitions  and  acts  which  they  produce  ;  and  thus, 
in  the  end,  these  volitions  and  acts  become  the  immediate 
objects  of  our  love  or  repugnance.  According  to  Mackin- 
tosh's theory,  the  moral  faculty  consists  of  this  class  of  sec- 
ondary desires  and  affections  which  have  dispositions  and 
volitions  for  their  sole  object.  This  description  of  our 
moral  sentiments  will,  he  conceives,  explain  their  peculiar 
character  and  attributes.  He  expresses  the  relation  which 
he  wishes  to  describe,  by  saying  that  the  moral  sentiments 
are  in  contact  with  the  icill ;  or,  as  he  further  elucidates 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  413 

this,  "  they  may  and  do  stand  between  any  other  practical 
principle  and  its  object,  while  it  is  absolutely  impossible 
that  any  other  shall  intercept  their  connection  with  the 
will."  The  conscience  requires  virtuous  acts  and  dispo- 
sitions to  action  ;  and  by  such  requisition  it  can  check  and 
control  any  desires  of  external  objects  ;  but  no  desire  of 
any  outward  gratification  can  prevent  the  conscience  from 
demanding  a  virtuous  direction  of  the  will ;  and  this  men- 
tal relation  explains  and  justifies,  Mackintosh  conceives, 
that  attribution  of  supremacy  and  command  to  the  con- 
science on  which  moral  writers  have  often  insisted.* 

*  In  his  remarks  on  Butler  he  says :  —  "  The  truth  seems  to  be,  that 
the  moral  sentiments,  in  their  mature  state,  are  a  class  of  feelings  ichich 
have  no  other  object  but  the  mental  dispositions  leading  to  voluntary  action, 
and  the  voluntary  actions  ichich  flow  from  these  dispositions.  We  are 
pleased  with  some  dispositions  and  actions,  and  displeased  with  others, 
in  ourselves  and  our  fellows.  We  desire  to  cultivate  the  dispositions, 
and  to  perform  the  actions,  which  we  contemplate  with  satisfaction. 
These  objects,  like  all  those  of  human  appetite  or  desire,  are  sought  for 
their  own  sake.  The  peculiarity  of  these  desires  is,  that  their  gratifica- 
tion requires  the  use  of  no  means.  Nothing  (unless  it  be  a  volition)  is  in- 
terposed between  the  desire  and  the  voluntary  act.  It  is  impossible, 
therefore,  that  these  passions  should  undergo  any  change  by  transfer 
from  the  end  to  the  means,  as  is  the  case  with  other  practical  principles. 
On  the  other  hand,  as  soon  as  they  are  fixed  on  these  ends,  they  cannot 
regard  any  further  object.  When  another  passion  prevails  over  them,  the 
end  of  the  moral  faculty  is  converted  into  a  means  of  gratification.  But 
volitions  and  actions  are  not  themselves  the  end,  or  last  object  in  view, 
of  any  other  desire  or  aversion.  Nothing  stands  between  the  moral 
sentiments  and  their  object.  They  are,  as  it  were,  in  contact  with  the 
will.  It  is  this  sort  of  mental  position,  if  the  expression  may  be  par- 
doned, that  explains,  or  seems  to  explain,  those  characteristic  properties 
which  true  philosophers  ascribe  to  them,  and  which  all  reflecting  men 
feel  to  belong  to  them.  Being  the  only  desires,  aversions,  sentiments, 
or  emotions  which  regard  dispositions  and  actions,  they  necessarily  ex- 
tend to  the  whole  character  and  conduct.  Among  motives  to  action,  they 
alone  are  justly  considered  as  universal.  They  may  and  do  stand  be- 
tween any  other  practical  principle  and  its  object ;  while  it  is  absolutely 
impossible  that  another  shall  intercept  their  connection  with  the  will. 
Be  it  observed,  that,  though  many  passions  prevail  over  them,  no  other 
can  act  beyond  its  own  appointed  and  limited  sphere ;  and  that  the 
prevalence  itself,  leaving  the  natural  order  undisturbed  in  any  other  part 
of  the  mind,  is  perceived  to  be  a  disorder,  when  seen  in  another  man, 
and  felt  to  be  so  by  the  mind  disordered,  when  the  disorder  subsides. 
Conscience  may  forbid  the  will  to  contribute  to  the  gratification  of  a  de- 
sire. No  desire  ever  forbids  will  to  obey  conscience. 

"This  result  of  the  peculiar  relation  of  conscience  to  the  will  justifies 
those  metaphorical  expressions  which  ascribe  to  it  authority  and  the 
right  of  universal  command.  It  is  immutable  ;  for,  by  the  law  which 
regulates  all  feelings,  it  must  rest  on  action,  which  is  its  object,  and  be- 

35* 


414  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

2.  Thus  conscience  consists  in,  or  rather  results  from, 
the  composition  of  all  those  sentiments,  of  which  the  final 
object  is  a  state  of  the  will,  intimately  and  inseparably 
blended,  and  held  in  a  perfect  state  of  solution  ;  and  the 
conscience  being  thus  represented  as  analogous  to  the  de- 
sires, it  implies,  in  the  same  way  as  other  desires,  a  sense 
of  what  is  grateful,  and  a  faculty  of  dwelling,  in  thought, 
on  the  gratification  so  obtained. 

3.  But  if,  in  order  further  to  develop  tbis  theory,  it  be 
asked  what  states  of  the  will  are  thus  agreeable  to  the  con- 

yond  which  it  cannot  look ;  and  as  it  employs  no  means,  it  never  can  be 
transferred  to  nearer  objects,  in  the  way  in  which  he  who  first  desires 
an  object,  as  a  means  of  gratification,  may  come  to  seek  it  as  his  end. 
Another  remarkable  peculiarity  is  bestowed  on  the  moral  feelings  by 
the  nature  of  their  object.  As  the  objects  of  all  other  desires  are  out- 
ward, the  satisfaction  of  them  may  be  frustrated  by  outward  causes. 
The  moral  sentiments  may  always  be  gratified,  because  voluntary  ac- 
tions and  moral  dispositions  spring  from  within.  No  external  circum- 
stance affects  them.  Hence  their  independence.  As  the  moral  senti- 
ment needs  no  means,  and  the  desire  is  instantaneously  followed  by  the 
volition,  it  seems  to  be  either  that  which  first  suggests  the  relation  be- 
tween command  and  obedience,  or  at  least  that  which  affords  the  simplest 
instance  of  it.  It  is  therefore  with  the  most  rigorous  precision  that  au- 
thority and  universality  are  ascribed  to  them.  Their  only  unfortunate 
property  is  their  too  frequent  weakness;  but  it  is  apparent  that  it  is 
from  that  circumstance  alone  that  their  failure  arises.  Thus  considered, 
the  language  of  Butler  concerning  conscience,  that,  "  had  it  strength  as 
it  has  right,  it  would  govern  the  world,"  which  may  seem  to  be  only 
an  effusion  of  generous  feeling,  proves  to  be  a  just  statement  of  the 
nature  and  action  of  the  highest  of  human  faculties.  The  union  of 
universality,  immutability,  and  independence  with  direct  action  on 
the  will,  which  distinguishes  the  moral  sense  from  every  other  part 
of  our  practical  nature,  renders  it  scarcely  metaphorical  language  to 
ascribe  to  it  unbounded  sovereignty  and  awful  authority  over  the  whole 
of  the  world  within, — shows  that  attributes,  well  denoted  by  terms 
significant  of  command  and  control,  are,  in  fact,  inseparable  from  it, 
or  rather  constitute  its  very  essence,  —  justifies  those  ancient  moralists 
who  represent  it  as  alone"  securing,  if  not  forming,  the  moral  liberty 
of  man ;  and  finally,  when  religion  rises  from  its  roots  in  virtuous  feel- 
ing, it  clothes  conscience  with  the  sublime  character  of  representing 
the  Divine  purity  and  majesty  in  the  human  soul.  Its  title  is  not  im- 
paired by  any  number  of  defeats;  for  every  defeat  necessarily  disposes 
the  disinterested  and  dispassionate  by-stander  to  wish  that  its  force  were 
strengthened  :  and  though  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  consistently 
with  the  present  constitution  of  human  nature,  it  could  be  so  invigo- 
rated as  to  be  the  only  motive  to  action,  yet  every  such  by-stander 
rejoices  at  all  accessions  to  its  force,  and  would  own  that  man  be- 
comes happier,  more  excellent,  more  estimable,  more  venerable,  in 
proportion  as  conscience  acquires  a  power  of  banishing  malevolent 
passions,  of  strongly  curbing  all  the  private  appetites,  of  influencing 
and  guiding  the  benevolent  affecti  ins  themselves." 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  415 

science,  or,  in  other  words,  what,  according  to  this  sys- 
tem, is  the  general  character  of  the  dispositions  and  ac- 
tions which  we  consider  good  and  right,  Mackintosh's 
answer  would  be,  that  the  conscience,  being  educated 
and  awakened  by  certain  processes  of  association,  is  thus 
composed  of  various  elements,  and  finds  good  under  vari- 
ous forms  ;  —  that  the  beneficial  volitions  are  delightful, 
and  that,  therefore,  they  strongly  attract  those  affections 
which  regard  the  will,  and  thus  give  rise  to  some  of  the 
elements  of  conscience  ;  *  —  that  our  anger  against  those 
who  disappoint  our  wish  for  the  happiness  of  others,  when 
in  like  manner  detached  from  persons  and  transferred  to 
dispositions,  becomes  a  sense  of  justice,  another  element 
of  conscience; — that  courage,  energy,  decision, -when 

*  To  illustrate  this  more  fully,  we  cite  what  he  says  in  his  "  General 
Remarks"  :  — "When  the  social  affections  are  thus  formed,  they  are 
naturally  followed  in  every  instance  by  the  will  to  do  whatever  can 
promote  their  object.  Compassion  excites  a  voluntary  determination 
to  do  whatever  relieves  the  person  pitied.  The  like  process  must 
occur  in  every  case  of  gratitude,  generosity,  and  affection.  Nothing 
so  uniformly  follows  the  kind  disposition  as  the  act  of  will,  because 
it  is  the  only  means  by  which  the  benevolent  desire  can  be  gratified. 
The  result  of  what  Brown  justly  calls  'a  finer  analysis'  shows  the 
mental  contiguity  of  the  affection  to  the  volition  to  be  much  closer 
than  appears  on  a  coarser  examination  of  this  part  of  our  nature.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  the  strongest  association,  the  most  active  power  of 
reciprocal  suggestion,  should  subsist  between  them.  As  all  the  affec- 
tions are  delightful,  so  the  volitions,  voluntary  acts  which  are  the  only 
means  of  their  gratification,  become  agreeable  objects  of  contemplation 
to  the  mind.  The  habitual  disposition  to  perform  them  is  felt  in  our- 
selves, and  observed  in  others,  with  satisfaction.  As  these  feelings  be- 
come more  lively,  the  absence  of  them  may  be  viewed  in  ourselves 
with  a  pain,  in  others  with  an  alienation  capable  of  indefinite  increase. 
They  become  entirely  independent  sentiments  ;  still,  however,  receiving 
constant  supplies  of  nourishment  from  their  parent  affections,  which,  in 
well-balanced  minds,  reciprocally  strengthen  each  other ;  unlike  the 
unkind  passions,  which  are  constantly  engaged  in  the  most  angry  con- 
flicts of  civil  war.  In  this  state,  we  desire  to  experience  these  benefi- 
cent volitions,  to  cultivate  a  disposition  towards  them,  and  to  do  every 
correspondent  voluntary  act  They  are  for  their  own  sake  the  objects 
of  desire.  They  thus  constitute  a  large  portion  of  those  emotions, 
desires,  and  affections,  which  regard  certain  dispositions  of  the  mind 
and  determinations  of  the  will  as  their  sole  and  ultimate  end.  These 
are  what  are  called  the  moral  sense,  the  moral  sentiments,  or  best, 
though  most  simply,  by  the  ancient  name  of  Conscience;  which  has  the 
merit,  in  our  language,  of  being  applied  to  no  other  purpose,  which  pe- 
culiarly marks  the  strong  working  of  these  feelings  on  conduct,  and 
which,  from  its  solemn  and  sacred  character,  is  well  adapted  to  denote 
the  venerable  authority  of  the  highest  principle  of  human  nature." 


416        NATURE  AND  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE. 

tamed  by  the  society  of  the  affections,  and  considered  as 
dispositions  only,  become  magnanimity,  and  gratify  the 
moral  sense  ;  —  and  that  even  those  habits  which  mainly 
affect  our  own  good,  as  temperance,  prudence,  when  they 
become  disposition  and  not  calculation,  are,  for  like  rea- 
sons, added  to  the  constituents  of  conscience. 

4.  Thus  the  view  of  the  nature  of  conscience  here  pre- 
sented explains  how  it  is  that  the  private  desires  and  the 
social  affections  alike  fall  under  the  authority  of  the  moral 
faculty.  The  explanation  of  this  community  of  rule  in 
sentiments  of  so  widely  different  nature,  Mackintosh  con- 
siders a  strong  confirmation  of  the  justice  of  his  opinion. 

2 

TV.  Inferences  deduced  from  this  Theory.']  Without 
pronouncing  a  judgment  on  the  truth  of  this  theory,  I  hope 
I  have  faithfully  represented  the  author's  meaning.  But 
he  draws  from  the  theory  certain  inferences,  of  which  I 
may  say  a  few  words. 

1.  Mackintosh,  as  we  have  seen,  maintains  that,  though 
the  moral  faculty  is  formed  or  educed  by  intercourse  with 
the  external  world,  it  is  a  law  of  our  nature  ;"  yet  he  allows 
that  what  this  law  prescribes  agrees  with  the  rule,  rightly 
understood,  of  bringing  forth  the  greatest  happiness.  Pie 
was,  therefore,  naturally  called  upon  to  account  for  this 
coincidence.  If  moral  approval  be  a  different  sentiment 
from  the  estimation  of  general  happiness,  why  does  the 
moral  sense  of  man  invariably  approve  that  which  increases 
the  happiness  of  his  species  ?  If  this  theory  account  for 
this  phenomenon,  such  a  circumstance  will,  he  conceives, 
be  a  strong  argument  in  its  favor. 

He  replies  to  this  inquiry,  that  all  the  separate  objects 
which  conscience  approves,  the  social  affections,  the  de- 
cisions of  justice,  the  maxims  of  enlightened  prudence, 
tend  to  the  happiness  of  some  part  of  the  species,  and  that 
thus  the  general  rules  of  conscience  must  agree  with  the 
rules  of  the  general  happiness.  All  the  acts  which  the 
moral  faculty  sanctions  promote  the  welfare  of  some  part 
of  mankind,  and  all  that  reason  has  to  do  is  to  add  up  the 
items  of  the  account.  All  the  principles  of  which  con- 
science is  composed  converge  towards  the  happiness  of 
man  ;  and  therefore  this  may  be  taken  as  its  central  point. 


SIR  JAMES  MACKINTOSH'S  THEORY.  417 

And  thus  the  coincidence  just  noticed  is  not  accidental, 
but  is  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  theory. 

I  will  add,  as  a  corollary  to  what  Mackintosh  has 
said,  that  a  system  of  ethics,  rightly  constructed  on  the 
principle  of  promoting,  in  the  greatest  degree,  the  happi- 
ness of  mankind,  will  coincide,  in  most  of  its  rules  of  ac- 
tion, with  a  system  founded  on  the  supreme  authority  of 
conscience  ;  but  that,  in  order  to  apply  safely  and  well 
the  eudemonist  principle,  we  must  recollect  that  happiness 
consists  rather  in  habits  of  the  mind  than  in  outward  grati- 
fications, and  is  to  be  sought  rather  by  forming  moral 
dispositions  than  by  prescribing  acts.  In  Paley's  Jlloral 
Philosophy,  we  have  a  work  framed  on  the  eudemonist 
basis,  which  has  for  some  time  possessed  considerable 
authority  in  this  country,  and  has  probably  in  no  small 
degree  influenced  men's  reasonings  on  such  subjects  in 
recent  times.  Without  examining  here  how  far  Paley 
has  always  applied  his  principle  under  due  conditions,  and 
traced  his  consequences  with  a  sufficiently  enlarged  survey, 
we  may  observe  that  there  prevails  through  the  work  a 
tone  of  practical  sagacity,  good  sense,  and  good  feeling, 
which  neutralizes  most  of  its  theoretical  defects. 

2.  Some  other  bearings  of  Mackintosh's  theory  may  be 
noticed,  and  especially  the  view  it  offers  of  the  relation  of 
religion  and  morality.  This  agrees  nearly  with  the  doc- 
trine of  Butler,  and  many  English  divines,  that  conscience 
is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  the  commands  of  God  are 
conveyed  to  us.  "  The  completeness  and  rigor  acquired 
by  conscience,  when  all  its  dictates  are  revered  as  the 
commands  of  a  perfectly  good  and  wise  Being,  are  so  ob- 
vious, that  they  cannot  be  questioned  by  any  reasonable 
man,  however  wide  his  incredulity  may  be.  It  is  thus 
that  conscience  can  add  the  warmth  of  an  affection  to  the 
inflexibility  of  principle  and  habit."  Not  only  are  we 
bound  to  accept  all  the  precepts  for  the  moral  government 
of  the  will,  disclosed  either  by  revelation  or  by  reason, 
as  undeniable  rules  for  our  feelings  and  actions  ;  but  the 
relations  between  man  and  his  Maker,  which  religion 
teaches  us,  tend  to  make  this  a  work  of  love,  no  less  than 
of  duty,  and  bestow  on  that  improvement  of  our  inward 
nature  to  which  conscience  is  constantly  urging  us  an  as- 


413  NATURE  ASD  ESSENCE  OF  VIRTUE. 

pect  of  hope  and  joy,  which  human  morality,  without  such 
aid,  can  hardly  assume,  and  seldom  long  retain. 

3.  I  will  only  refer  to  one  other  consequence  of  this  theory 
of  conscience  of  Mackintosh  ;  —  the  view  it  appears  to  him 
to  supply  of  the  celebrated  question  of  free-will.  Since 
conscience  contemplates  those  dispositions  only  which  de- 
pend on  the  will,  it  excludes  all  consideration  of  the  cause 
in  which  the  will  originated  :  hence  the  voluntary  dispo- 
sitions appear  as  the  first  link  of  the  chain  ;  and,  in  the 
eye  of  conscience,  will  is  the  independent  cause  of  action. 
Reason,  on  the  other  hand,  must  consider  occurrences  as 
bound  together  by  the  connection  of  cause  and  effect,  and 
thus  sees  only  the  strength  of  the  necessitarian  system. 
Thus,  while  speculation  appears  to  show  that  our  actions 
are  necessary,  practice  convinces  us  that  they  are  free. 
The  advocates  of  necessity  and  of  free-will  look  at  the 
question  from  different  points  of  view  ;  —  that  of  the  un- 
derstanding and  that  of  the  conscience.  But  the  conscien- 
tious view,  being  strengthened  by  the  moral  sympathy  of 
mankind,  is  by  far  the  most  generally  and  strongly  enter- 
tained. 


SECTION  II. 
JOCFFROY'S  THEORY  OF  MORALS. 

I.  His  Criticism  of  other  TTieoriea.]  Observation  attests, 
and  reason  conceives,  that  every  human  action  must  have  a 
motive  and  an  end.  In  seeking  to  determine  what  are  the 
distinct  ends  of  human  action,  we  find  that  they  may  be 
reduced  to  three  :  first,  the  peculiar  object  of  some  one 
natural  desire  ;  secondly,  the  complete  satisfaction  of  our 
whole  nature,  or  the  pleasure  which  accompanies  this  sat- 
isfaction ;  thirdly,  that  which  is  good  in  itself.  We  find, 
also,  that  all  the  distinct  motives  of  human  action  may  be 
reduced  to  three,  which  correspond  to  these  three  ends  : 
first,  some  natural  instinct ;  secondly,  a  desire  of  secon- 
dary formation,  which  we  call  self-love,  or  the  desire  of 
happiness  ;  thirdly,  obligation.  From  these  arise  three 
simple  forms  of  volition,  not  to  speak  of  those  mixed 
forms  which  result  from  the  different  possible  combinations 
of  these  three  ends  and  motives. 


JOUFFROY'S  THEORY.  419 

This  being   premised,  we  apply  the  name  of  good  to 
the  following  things  :  — 

1 .  The  objects  of  the  different  instincts  of  our  nature,  — 
such  as  food,  riches,  power,  glory,  esteem,  friendship, — 
each  of  which  we  call  good.      Good,  in  this  first  accepta- 
tion, signifies  whatever  is  fitted  to  satisfy  some  desire  ;  so 
that  there  are  as  many  varieties  of  good  as  there  are  de- 
sires. 

2.  The  greatest  satisfaction  of  our  nature  ;  which  is, 
in  other  words,  either  its  greatest  good  or  its  greatest  hap- 
piness, according  as  we  consider  its  satisfaction  in  itself, 
or  the  consequence  of  this,  which  is  pleasure.     Here,  the 
word  good  represents  no  longer  the  object  of  a  desire  and 
its  satisfaction,  but  the  greatest  satisfaction  of  all  our  de- 
sires.     Different  persons   may   understand   this  good   in 
their  own  way,  but  each  has  the  idea  of  such  a  good. 

3.  Good  in  itself.    By  good,  in  this  last  acceptation,  we 
mean,  not  that  which  is  good  in  reference  to  ourselves,  but 
that  which  is  good  independently  of  ourselves  and  of  every 
human   being,  —  good  in  itself,  and  absolutely.      There 
can  be  but  one  such  good  as  this,  although  there  may  be 
as  many  kinds  of  good  of  the  second  class  as  there  are 
beings,  and  as  many  of  the  first  as  there  are  desires  in  in- 
dividuals. 

4.  The  conformity  of  the  voluntary  action  of  a   free 
and  intelligent  being  to  absolute  good.      The  word  good, 
in  this  last  acceptation,  represents  that  quality  of  the  con- 
duct of  intelligent   and   free  individuals   which  makes   it 
conformable  to  absolute  good.     This  is  virtue,  morality, 
moral  good. 

Such  are  the  facts,  at  least  as  they  appear  to  me. 
Ethical  systems  become  false  by  misconceiving  or  mutilat-- 
ing  these  facts  more  or  less.  The  system  that  mutilates 
them  the  most  is  the  selfish  system  ;  for  it  entirely  effaces 
the  distinctions  just  pointed  out,  and  reduces  all  these  facts 
to  one,  —  a  voluntary  and  determined  pursuit  of  personal 
good.  The  instinctive  system  is  less  at  variance  with  the 
truth.  It  recognizes  two  ends  and  two  motives,  —  the  end 
and  motive  of  instinct,  and  the  end  and  motive  of  self- 
love  ;  —  but,  in  all  else,  it  misconceives  the  reality.  The 
system  maintained  by  Price  and  Stewart  comes  much 


420  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

nearer  to  the  truth.  This  recognizes  three  motives  and 
three  ends  ;  but  it  gives  a  false  description  of  the  third, 
and  alters  its  nature  by  overlooking  the  distinction  between 
absolute  good  and  moral  good.  It  confounds  these  two 
facts,  which,  though  united,  are  distinct,  and  forms  of 
them  a  single  fact,  that  retains  the  qualities  of  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  exclusively,  and  thus,  by  blending  them, 
mutilates  both. 

According  to  Price  and  Stewart,  the  idea  of  good  is 
only  an  idea  of  a  quality  in  actions  recognized  by  intuitive 
reason  ;  so  that,  beyond  actions,  there  is  nothing  that  is 
good,  and,  if  there  were  no  actions,  good  would  cease 
to  be. 

In  my  opinion,  this  is  true  only  of  moral  good.  I  grant 
that  the  idea  of  moral  good  is  the  idea  of  a  certain  quali- 
ty in  actions,  —  a  quality  which  really  exists  in  them,  and 
which  my  reason  discovers.  If  there  were  no  actions, 
this  quality,  and  consequently  moral  good,  would  have  no 
existence.  The  idea  alone  would  exist,  and  this  would 
be  the  idea  of  a  possible  quality  of  possible  actions.  But, 
in  my  opinion,  moral  good,  or  this  particular  quality,  is  not 
an  intrinsic  attribute  of  certain  actions,  as  a  round  form 
is  of  certain  bodies.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  relation 
existing  between  actions  and  an  end,  namely,  absolute 
good  ;  these  actions  may  or  may  not  tend  to  this  end,  by 
relation  to  which  they  are  good  when  they  tend  towards  it, 
and  bad  when  they  do  not.  This  end  is  good  in  itself ; 
it  is  the  only  absolute  good,  and  whatever  else  is  good  de- 
rives this  character  merely  from  being  related  to  it.  This 
end  is  the  reality  which  the  word  good  represents  ;  the 
idea  of  it  is  perfectly  equivalent  to  the  idea  of  g-oorf,  and, 
•  in  fact,  these  two  ideas  are  identical. 

In  what  way,  according  to  my  view,  is  good  perceived  ? 
The  process  is  as  follows  :  As  good  and  evil,  in  conduct 
and  actions,  depend  upon  their  conformity,  or  their  non- 
conformity, to  absolute  good,  it  is  evident  that,  for  me, 
they  have  no  such  character,  unless  I  have  attained  to  the 
idea  of  this  absolute  good.  It  is  on  the  occasion  of  actions, 
to  be  sure,  that  this  idea  of  good  is  conceived,  and  the 
conception  may  be  more  or  less  clear  in  my  mind  ;  but, 
clear  or  obscure,  this  idea  must  still  precede  any  judgment 


JOUFFROY'S  THEORY.  421 

as  to  particular  actions.  Thus,  in  my  system,  moral  con- 
ceptions must  necessarily  originate  in  the  idea  of  good  in 
itself. 

II.  His  Account  of  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  Absolute 
Good  and  of  Moral  Obligation.'}  The  solution  of  the 
moral  problem  is  found  in  certain  self-evident  truths, 
conceived  a  priori  by  the  reason,  the  immediate  conse- 
quence of  which  is  a  clear  definition  of  good,  and  this 
supplies  us  with  a  precise  method  for  determining  in  what 
it  consists  for  every  possible  being.  What  the  truths  are, 
and  how  they  lead  to  this  double  consequence,  I  am  going 
briefly  to  indicate. 

The  first  of  these  truths  is  the  principle,  that  every 
being  has  an  end  ;  it  has  all  the  evidence,  all  the  universali- 
ty, all  the  necessity,  of  the  principle  of  causality,  and  our 
reason  is  as  unable  to  conceive  of  an  exception  to  one  as 
to  the  other.  It  has,  also,  the  fecundity  ;  for,  having  pen- 
etrated into  our  intelligence,  it  gives  birth  to  other  truths 
contained  impliedly  in  it,  and  these  cast  on  the  end  of 
things  the  same  light  which  the  truths  emanating  from  the 
principle  of  causality  cast  on  their  origin. 

Indeed,  if  it  is  true  that  every  being  has  an  end,  then 
it  is  true  that  I  have  one,  that  you  have  one,  that  there  is 
no  created  being  which  has  not  one.  Now  in  casting  our 
eyes  over  the  world,  or  over  that  part  of  it  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  we  perceive  that  if  all  beings  have  an 
end,  this  end  is  not  uniform  for  all  ;  for,  as  far  as  our  ob- 
servation extends,  each  class  of  beings  develops  itself  in 
its  own  way,  and  aspires  to  an  end  peculiar  to  itself.  As 
soon,  therefore,  as  we  have  conceived  that  every  being  has 
an  end,  we  gather  from  experience  another  truth,  namely, 
that  this  end  differs  in  different  beings,  each  being  having 
an  end  peculiar  to  itself. 

And  this  second  discovery  is  not  slow  to  introduce  a 
third,  namely,  that  a  relation  exists  between  the  end  of 
each  being  and  its  nature,  the  diversity  or  peculiarity  in  the 
end  corresponding  to  the  diversity  or  peculiarity  in  the 
nature.  Clearly,  if  each  being  has  its  appropriate  end,  it 
must  have  received  an  organization  adapted  to  this  end, 
and  apt  to  attain  it.  It  would  be  a  contradiction  to  sup- 
36 


422  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

pose  an  end  to  be  imposed  on  a  being  whose  nature  did 
not  contain  the  means  of  realizing  it.  Experience  teaches 
us  that  no  such  contradiction  exists  in  creation  ;  it  shows 
us  everywhere  the  nature  of  beings  in  harmony  with  their 
destination,  and  a  perfect  parallelism  between  diversity  of 
natures  and  that  of  ends  ;  so  that  this  third  truth,  that  the 
end  of  each  being  is  conformed  to  its  nature,  is  invested 
in  our  intelligence  with  the  same  guaranties  of  universality 
as  the  other  two. 

By  its  light  you  perceive  the  method  for  determining 
what  the  true  end  of  any  being  is.  Though  the  end  of 
beings  is  a  pure  conception,  invisible  to  the  observer,  their 
nature  is  a  reality  which  we  can  analyze  and  investigate  ; 
and,  as  the  nature  of  every  being  is  adapted  to  its  end,  we 
can  find  in  the  first  a  revelation  of  the  second.  There  is, 
then,  a  way  for  discovering  the  destiny  of  beings,  —  name- 
ly, by  the  study  of  their  nature  ;  whenever  the  latter  is  pos- 
sible, the  former  can  be  determined. 

To  these  truths  are  soon  added  two  others,  which  equal, 
in  evidence  and  reach,  the  first.  If  each  being  has  its  end, 
then  creation  itself,  which  embraces  all  beings,  has  one. 
Creation,  it  is  true,  cannot  be  comprehended  by  us  in  its 
totality  ;  we  can  take  in  only  a  fragment  of  it,  and  this 
fragment  we  know  in  a  moment  only  of  its  duration.  The 
work  of  God  fills  space  and  duration,  while  all  that  we 
can  directly  seize  pertains  to  but  a  point  in  one,  and  a 
moment  in  the  other.  Still,  though  infinite,  and  to  endure 
for  ever,  the  same  principle  applies  to  it,  assuring  our 
reason  invincibly  that  it  has  an  end. 

Moreover,  this  truth  is  revealed  to  us  in  connection 
with  the  preceding  truths,  and  all  together  generate  still 
another.  If  creation  has  an  end,  if  each  being  has  its 
own  end,  and  if  creation  is  nothing  but  the  assemblage  of 
all  beings,  it  follows  that  the  relation  which  exists  between 
the  whole  and  its  parts  must  also  exist  between  the  end 
of  the  whole  and  the  end  of  each  of  the  parts  of  the 
whole.  The  end  of  each  being  is,  therefore,  an  element 
of  the  end  of  creation.  The  end  of  creation  is  only  the 
resultant  of  the  particular  ends  of  all  the  beings  that  people 
and  compose  the  universe,  while  these,  in  their  turn,  are 
only  the  diverse  means  which  concur  in  the  accomplish- 


JOUFFROY'S  THEORY.  423 

ment  of  the  total  and  supreme  end.  This  last  conception 
is  not  less  evident  or  less  necessary  than  the  rest,  flowing, 
like  them,  from  the  absolute  principle  that  every  thing  has 
an  end.  By  an  invincible  relation,  it  attributes  the  end  of 
all  possible  beings  to  a  consequence  of  the  creation,  and 
forms  out  of  all  these  scattered  ends  an  harmonious  whole, 
the  concurrence  of  which  aspires  to  a  single  aim,  —  that, 
even,  which  God  proposed  to  himself,  when  he  allowed  the 
universe  to  escape  from  his  hands.  7"7^ 

This  is  not  all.  Other  ideas  and  truths  issue  from  this 
principle,  that  all  has  an  end.  The  next  which  I  shall 
signalize  is  the  idea  of  order.  The  idea  of  order  is, 
indeed,  but  an  emanation,  a  natural  and  inevitable  con- 
sequence of  the  idea  of  an  end.  If  creation  has  an  end, 
and  if  this  end  is  nothing  but  the  resultant  of  the  particu- 
lar ends  of  the  beings  which  compose  it,  then  the  life  of 
creation  is  nothing  else  but  its  movement  towards  this  su- 
preme end,  and  the  movement  itself,  in  its  turn,  may  be 
resolved  into  the  several  movements  of  all  created  beings 
towards  their  respective  ends.  From  the  accomplishment 
of  all  particular  ends  —  accomplishment  which  is  effected 
simultaneously  in  all  points  of  space,  and  successively  in 
all  moments  of  duration,  by  the  harmonious  concurrence 
of  all  beings,  executing,  each  in  its  sphere  and  at  its  hour, 
the  part  with  which  it  has  been  charged  —  results  evidently 
the  universal  life,  or  the  accomplishment  of  the  total  end 
of  creation.  Now  this  universal  and  eternal  movement  of 
each  thing  towards  the  end  which  God  has  assigned  to  it, 
and  of  all  things  towards  the  supreme,  single ,  and  definitive 
end  of  creation,  —  this  movement,  evidently  regular,  since 
it  has  an  aim,  is  precisely  what  we  call  order.  The  only 
difference  between  the  end  of  creation  and  universal  order 
is,  that  the  end  is  the  aim,  while  the  order  is^  the  regular 
movement  of  all  in  accordance  with  this  aim. 

Thus  far  nothing  has  been  said  of  morality.  The  con- 
ceptions just  announced  to  you  are  only  speculative  truths, 
which  reveal  to  our  reason  what  is,  without  teaching  it 
what  ought  to  be  done.  Such,  however,  is  their  nature, 
that,  when  they  have  appeared  in  our  intelligence,  the  idea 
of  what  is  good,  and  consequently  of  what  ought  to  be 
done,  necessarily  follows.  It  is  impossible  for  our  reason 


424  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

not  to  pass  from  this  idea  of  an  end  to  the  idea  of  good 
in  itself,  and  from  the  idea  of  order  to  that  of  moral  good. 
If  there  exist  in  the  world  intelligent  and  free  beings, 
these  beings  resemble  all  others  in  having  an  end  which 
has  been  assigned  them,  and  a  nature  fitted  to  that  end  ; 
in  other  terms,  like  all  other  beings,  they  are  fragments 
of  creation,  and  their  end  is  an  element  of  the  absolute 
end  of  things.  At  the  same  time,  they  differ  from  other 
creatures,  by  being  endowed  with  intelligence  and  liberty  ; 
—  a  difference  which  produces  in  them  special  and  peculiar 
phenomena.  Being  intelligent,  it  is  given  them  to  com- 
prehend this  world  of  which  they  make  part  ;  to  conceive 
that  it  has  an  end,  that  all  beings  have  one,  and  that  the 
end  of  each  being  is  an  element  of  the  end  of  all.  Being 
free,  it  is  also  given  them  to  realize  voluntarily  this  end, 
of  which  they  have  formed  a  conception,  and  thus  to 
concur  in  the  accomplishment  of  the  absolute  end  of  things, 
and  contribute  their  part  to  the  absolute  order,  that  is  to 
say,  to  the  universal  movement  of  all  things  towards  an 
end.  Now  that  which  has  been  given  to  these  privileged 
beings  to  do,  —  to  these  beings  endowed  by  exception  with 
intelligence  and  liberty,  —  is  precisely  what  they  ought, 
what  they  are  required,  what  they  are  obliged,  to  do. 

To  the  eye  of  reason  there  is  a  perfect,  absolute,  ne- 
cessary equation  between  the  idea  of  end  and  the  idea  of 
good.  If  it  is  true  that  the  world  has  an  end,  it  is  equally 
so  that  this  end  is  absolute  good.  If  it  is  true  that  each 
being  has  a  special  end,  then  it  is  true  that  the  good  proper 
to  this  being  is  this  end.  Again,  if  it  is  true  that  between 
the  end  of  each  being  and  the  end  of  all  there  is  a  corre- 
lation, so  that  the  end  of  each  being  is  only  an  element  of 
the  end  of  all,  then  it  is  true  that  the  good  of  each  being 
is  an  element  of  absolute  good,  and  that  thus  the  end  of 
each  being  has  the  same  nature  and  the  same  value  as 
absolute  good  itself.  Now  to  what  is  the  idea  of  ob- 
ligation invincibly  attached  ?  To  the  idea  of  that  which 
is  good  in  itself  and  absolutely.  What  we  were  ignorant 
of  we  now  know  ;  we  have  a  clear  conception  of  it. 
Good  in  itself  is  no  other  thing  than  the  end  of  God  in 
creation,  than  the  absolute  end  of  things.  Henceforth, 
this  end  appears  to  us  as  sacred,  and  with  it  all  the  diverse 


'  JOUFFROY'S  THEORY.  425 

ends  which  are  the  elements  of  it,  and  among  these  our 
own,  which  is  one  of  them.  The  accomplishment  of  our 
end,  or  of  our  good,  with  which  we  are  charged  by  being 
made  free  and  intelligent,  and  that  of  the  end  or  the  good 
of  others  in  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  concur  in  it,  —  behold 
our  duty,  our  rule,  our  legitimate  law.  Here,  gentlemen, 
is  morality  ;  we  sought  it  ;  behold  it  found. 

I  pretend  not  to  say,  that  all  these  conceptions,  which 
constitute  logically  the  foundations  of  morality,  are  dis- 
tinctly unfolded  to  all  minds.     Far  from  it.     All  a  priori 
conceptions,  though  absolute  and  universal  in  themselves, 
reveal  themselves  and  manifest  their  authority  and  force,  in 
the  first  instance,  in  particular  applications.     Afterwards, 
what  is  universal  and  absolute  in  these  particular  applica- 
tions is  disengaged  for  some  minds,  and  considered  and 
understood  by  itself  in  the  form  of  necessary  and  absolute 
conceptions  ;  for  others  it  is  not.      A  majority  do  but  take 
the  first  step  ;  they  pronounce  a  particular  course  of  con- 
duct to  be  according  to  their  nature  ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
conformity  with  their  end  ;  that  is  to  say,  again,  what  they 
were  made  for.    What  is  common  to  all  minds  is  the  habit 
of  thus  applying  these  conceptions  in  particular  cases,  and 
this  supposes  that  there  is  something  which  they  all  feel  in 
common.     This  something  is  a  confused  idea,  a  confused 
sentiment  of  order,  and  of  the  respect  which  every  rea- 
sonable being  should  pay  to  it.     The  proper  and   true 
name  of  moral  good  and  evil  is  order  and  disorder.    When 
I  do  evil,  I  feel  myself  at  war  with  order.     The  least  devel- 
oped, the  most  darkened  consciences,  have  this  sentiment, 
as  well  as  the  most  enlightened.     When  I  do  evil,  I  feel 
myself  out  of  order,  in  hostility  with  order  ;  when  I  do 
good,  I  feel  myself  in  harmony  with  order  ;  that  is  to  say, 
in  harmony  with  the  absolute  and  common  law  of  creation. 
I  am  "in  the  ways  of  God,"  as  the  Scriptures  say  ;  for 
the  ways  of  God  are  his  designs,  the  laws  that  govern  the 
universe  and  lead  it  to  its  end. 

III.  His  View  of  the  Destiny  of  Man.]  According 
to  a  preceding  formula,  we  are  to  determine  what  a  man's 
destiny  is  by  the  study  of  his  nature  ;  what  he  was  made 
for,  by  considering  how  he  is  made.  Now  by  observation 


426  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

we  discover  that  there  are  in  man  instincts,  tendencies, 
desires,  by  which  his  nature  expresses  itself  and  reveals 
itself  primitively,  and  as  long  as  it  lives  in  this  world. 
He  also  has  faculties,  that  is,  instruments,  answering  to  his 
desires  and  tendencies,  and  evidently  intended  to  be  the 
means  of  satisfying  these  desires  and  tendencies.  Again, 
he  possesses  a  faculty  of  comprehension,  the  function  of 
which  is  to  enlighten  him  respecting  the  objects  of  his  de- 
sires, and  also  on  the  best  way  of  proceeding  in  order 
to  satisfy  these  desires.  Finally,  there  is  in  him  a  direc- 
tive force,  called  the  will,  or  the  power  of  self-control, 
whose  office  it  is,  under  the  superior  authority  of  reason 
and  intelligence,  or  the  comprehending  faculty,  to  direct 
his  instrumental  faculties  in  the  best  manner  for  the  attain- 
ment of  the  satisfaction  of  his  nature. 

Such  being  the  constitution  of  human  nature,  we  see 
that  every  thing  looks  to  the  legitimate,  harmonious,  and 
complete  satisfaction  of  our  whole  nature  ;  that  is  to  say, 
of  all  its  primary  and  fundamental  desires  and  tendencies. 
This,  therefore,  speaking  absolutely,  is  its  destiny,  its 
end. 

Here,  however,  we  encounter  a  fact  of  great  moment. 
Our  condition  in  this  world  is  such,  that  not  one  of  the  de- 
sires and  tendencies  of  our  nature  is  ever  completely  sat- 
isfied on  earth,  either  in  the  individual,  or  in  the  race  con- 
sidered collectively.  Take  curiosity,  for  example,  or  the 
desire  or  tendency  to  know, — its  complete  satisfaction 
would  be  absolute  knowledge  ;  or  sympathy,  —  its  com- 
plete satisfaction  would  be  the  perfect  union  and  harmony 
of  all  beings  :  neither  of  which  is  ever  realized  in  this 
world.  Let  no  one  object  that  a  different  and  more  per- 
fect organization  of  society  might  bring  about  these  results. 
Undoubtedly  a  different  and  more  perfect  organization  of 
society  would  augment  the  sum  of  the  satisfactions  of  each 
and  of  all  the  desires  and  tendencies  of  our  nature  ;  still, 
absolute  knowledge  and  a  perfect  and  harmonious  union 
of  all  beings  in  this  world  would  be  impossible. 

From  this  incontestable  fact,  two  conclusions  of  the 
highest  importance  follow. 

In  the  first  place,  it  follows  that  the  absolute  end  of 
man,  as  determined  by  his  nature,  is  never  realized  in  this 


JOUFFROY'S  THEORY.  427 

world,  and  consequently,  that  he  is  not  placed  here  for  the 
accomplishment  of  this  end. 

The  question  respecting  the  end  of  man  comes  up,  there- 
fore, in  another  form.  What  is  the  end  of  man  in  this  life  ? 
Why  is  he  placed  amidst  a  constitution  of  things  where 
the  free  and  spontaneous  development  of  his  desires  and 
tendencies  is  obstructed  and  hindered,  —  where  nature 
around  him  is  not  in  harmony  with  his  own  nature,  mak- 
ing his  existence  here  a  perpetual  struggle,  a  perpetual 
conflict  ?  Here,  again,  we  must  determine  the  end  by 
considering  the  tendency,  and  accordingly  we  ask,  What 
is  the  tendency  of  this  constitution  of  things,  as  regards 
man  ?  Evidently  it  is,  to  call  out,  exercise,  and  strength- 
en his  self-directing,  self-controlling  power,  his  personal 
power,  that  which  makes  him  to  be  a  person,  and  not  a 
thing,  —  capable  of  virtue,  capable  of  cooperating  with 
God.  Suppose  we  had  been  placed  in  a  condition  in 
which  nothing  opposed  or  obstructed  the  accomplishment 
of  our  true  end  :  we  should  have  gone  to  that  end  pas- 
sively, if  I  may  use  such  a  term  in  speaking  of  an  active 
being.  We  should  have  been  like  the  main-spring  of  a 
watch,  which,  after  having  been  wound  up  by  the  hand  of 
its  owner,  goes  on  gradually  unwinding  itself,  marking  the 
hours  until  night ;  but  the  main-spring  has  no  proper  par- 
ticipation in  the  effect  produced.  Whence  comes  it  that 
we  elevate  ourselves  from  the  humble  condition  of  a  being 
which  is  only  a  thing  to  the  sublime  condition  of  a  person  ? 
It  comes  from  this,  that  the  world  is  made  as  it  is  ;  from 
the  rigorous  law,  under  which  we  are  born,  that  we  make 
not  a  single  step  towards  the  accomplishment  of  our  final 
destiny  but  by  the  sweat  of  our  brow. 

The  present  life,  therefore,  with  all  its  difficulties  and 
obstacles,  with  all  its  physical  and  moral  evils,  is  not  a 
mistake  or  an  accident.  It  has  not  only  been  explained, 
but  justified  ;  but  the  justification  brings  into  view  a  second 
consequence,  equally  important,  from  the  fact  above  men- 
tioned. We  have  seen  what  the  true  and  absolute  end  of 
man  is  ;  we  have  also  seen  that  this  is  not  and  cannot  be 
accomplished  in  this  life  :  hence  we  conclude  that  this 
life  is  not  all.  My  nature  was  made  what  it  is.  By  vir- 
tue of  its  organization,  I  feel  desires  which  have  an  aim 


428  NATURE    AND    ESSENCE    OF    VIRTUE. 

and  an  end  ;  I  have  intelligence  which  comprehends  all 
the  reach  of  these  desires,  and  sensibility  to  suffer  pain 
and  anguish  when  they  die  impotent  and  without  satisfac- 
tion ;  and  I  also  have  faculties  clothed  with  power  to 
satisfy  these  desires,  even  in  the  face  of  difficulties  and 
obstacles.  All  this  I  comprehend  in  respect  to  my  nature. 
When  unhappy  in  my  present  condition,  I  explain  to  my- 
self this  condition  ;  I  see  the  necessity  and  suitableness  of 
it;  —  all,  however,  on  an  hypothesis  which  my  whole 
nature  cries  out  for.  Is  this  hypothesis  to  be  regarded 
as  a  fanciful  chimera  ?  Impossible  !  The  life  to  come 
may  be  one,  or  multiple.  What  we  feel  authorized  to 
affirm,  under  penalty  of  condemning  to  absurdity  the  uni- 
verse, the  world,  the  present  life,  God,  every  thing,  is 
that  this  life  is  not  all.  Another  life  will  dawn  upon  us, 
in  which  the  accomplishment  of  what  we  have  seen  to  be 
man's  true  and  absolute  destiny  will  be  possible,  —  will 
be  complete. 


THE    END. 


A-'">"Mfiiijiij  ||  1 111  mi 
000341018     o 


H 


